


The Boston Hour

by ifishouldvanish



Series: Boston Hour 'Verse [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Antiques Roadshow AU, Bisexual!Gold, Comedy, F/M, Fluff, LMAO, Red Kansas, idek, sheep boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2018-11-04 16:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 121,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10994343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifishouldvanish/pseuds/ifishouldvanish
Summary: In which Belle is an Antiques Roadshow super-fan and Gold is her favorite appraiser.Winner for "Best First Meeting" and "Best Belle" in the 2018 TEAs!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this other than I needed to write something light and fluffy.

Ruby plopped onto the couch beside her roommate with a sigh. “Do we _really_ have to watch--”

 _“Shh!”_ Belle hushed and gave her friend an elbow to the side, her eyes glued to the television screen. “He’s doing an appraisal!”

“Well _excuse_ me,” Ruby groaned, giving her reluctant attention to the episode of _Antiques Roadshow_ Belle was watching.

A relatively small man in a black three-piece suit with greying shoulder-length hair was inspecting a tea set. After a moment, there was a glimmer in his sable eyes and his lips curled into a smile. In a thick Scottish accent, he began informing a plump elderly woman about the history of the teaset, pointing out several examples of its fine craftsmanship. He went on about how the designer only made so few sets in this particular style, and despite the small chip in one of the cups, valued it handsomely at around twelve grand. He shook the woman’s hand and smiled at the camera with a nod before the program cut to a commercial.

Belle threw her head back and sighed.

“Seriously?” Ruby teased, raising a brow before taking a swig of her beer.

“He’s so…” Belle paused, trying to find the right word.

“Boring?”

“...Sexy!”

“I guess,” Ruby snorted. “If you’re into grandpas.”

“You know Ruby, I was very supportive of you when you wanted to watch subbed episodes of that German hospital drama twenty-four seven just because you thought the doctor was hot!”

“Yeah, but Doctor Whale actually has sex appeal.” Ruby argued. “I mean, _doctors,_ Belle. C’mon.” she said, wiggling her brows.

Belle huffed and squared her shoulders.

“Oh great, here we go,” Ruby groaned, rolling her eyes.

“Rumford Gold holds doctorates in art history, has a law degree...” Belle listed, counting each of the man’s qualifications on her fingers.

“Not the same thing!”

“...Master’s degrees in business and literature, and Bachelor's in women's studies and European military history!” She beamed.

“So basically... he’s got about ten degrees in how to put people to sleep,” Ruby deadpanned.

“Says you,” Belle huffed, rolling her eyes. She let out a deep sigh. “I’d just love to meet him! We could talk about art and books and I could just listen to that _voice_ …”

“And invite him over so you can find out how that voice sounds moaning your name?” Ruby snickered. She rolled her eyes back and fluttered her lids shut. _“Oh Belle!”_ she moaned, clutching her chest and panting suggestively. _“Tell me again about your thesis on gynocentrism in Victorian literature!”_

 _“Ruby!”_ Belle shot back, throwing a pillow across the couch at her face. "He's an intellectual! Eloquent! Refined!"

"Yeah, and as Granny would put it-- you'd let him leave his shoes under your bed any night of the week," Ruby teased. 

Belle glared at her, unable to make a rebuttal before program returned with an appraisal by Killian Jones for an old Colt revolver. He dated the piece at around the 1840s based on its serial number, and valued it at about four grand. Belle shrugged and muted the TV.

“The show is gonna be in Boston this year,” she sighed, glancing at Ruby who was texting away.

After a beat, she stopped typing looked up at her. “Please tell me you’re going.”

“I want to!” Belle said. “But you have apply for tickets and hope you get picked! And they don't let you in unless you have something to get appraised!”

Ruby blinked owlishly. _“Seriously?_  What is it-- the lottery to colonize _Mars?”_ She scoffed.

“Yeah! It’s a very big deal!”

“Okay so--” Ruby grinned and shifted on the couch, turning to face her better. “Whatcha got? 'Cause I don’t believe for one second you haven’t got it all figured out already.”

Belle nibbled her lip, biting back a timid smile. She stood up and approached the bookshelf, gingerly sliding an old text from one of its shelves. She could hear Ruby beginning to laugh once she recognized the cover. _Her Handsome Hero._

“I know, I know!” Belle admonished. “It’s not exactly high brow literature, but it’s old and it’s rare and in good condition! I mean, not that I’d ever want to sell it. But he does _book_ appraisals!”

“No, no! Totally!” Ruby giggled. “Just…”

Belle frowned and narrowed her eyes at her. “Just what?”

“You get to take a plus one, right? ‘Cause I totally wanna be there to watch you freak out. ...Or totally ensnare him with your feminine charms.” Ruby shrugged. “...Either way.”

“Well…” Belle said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. _“If_ my application gets picked, I would be allowed to bring a guest...”

Ruby’s face lit up. “You already applied?”

“Of course I did!” Belle blurted. "The deadline was a month ago!”

“...Oh.” Ruby said with nonchalance. “Well, I guess that would explain the envelope we got in the mail yesterday…”

Belle sucked in a breath. “You _what.”_ Bounding across the apartment for the pile of mail on the kitchen counter, she frantically began thumbing through the bills and junk mail. “You mean-- Why didn’t you tell-- _oh my God.”_ She held the envelope up and admired it for a moment as though it contained all the secrets of the universe.

“You okay there, Belles?”

"Ruby." She carried it over and plopped on the couch. "This is it.”

She snorted. “Well, are you gonna open it or what?”

Slowly, Belle tucked her finger under the flap of the envelope and tore it open. Holding her breath, she pulled out the letter and unfolded the sheet of paper. When she did so, two thick cards fell out and floated down to the floor.

_Belle French,  
_ _We at ANTIQUES ROADSHOW are happy to inform you that your application to attend our event in Boston, MA on July 22nd has been accepted. Enclosed are two tickets for you and one guest. Please see the attached Tour FAQ for important information about--_

“Ruby!” Belle leapt out of her seat, jumping for joy. “Ruby, I’m going! We’re gonna go!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Ruby arrive at the Antiques Roadshow event in Boston, and Belle finally meets Gold.

“Oh my God!” Belle squealed, gripping her friend's arm. “It's him!”

Ruby peered through the doors into the conference center where they had just gotten their first glimpse of the appraisers. They'd been waiting in line to get inside the event for _hours_ , and it was finally almost their turn _._ “So, do you have your marriage proposal ready, or what?”

“Oh, Rubes, he's even more handsome in person,” Belle sighed. “Just _look_ at him!”

“Right…” Ruby watched, unimpressed, as Rumford stood around, sipping from a water bottle. The morning session had ended, and all the appraisers and event staff were milling about before the conference center opened again for the afternoon session. “Hey, who's that guy he's talking to?”

“David Nolan.”

“Who?”

Belle shot her a disappointed look. “Furniture and folk art, Ruby! _Come on!”_

“Sorry, sorry!” she said, holding her arms up in surrender. Belle had gone so far as to make her flash cards of all seventy some-odd appraisers, and was quizzing her in the car on the drive to Boston.

“David and Rumford are _very_ close.” Belle informs her. “They cite each other's work _all_ the time.”

 _“Nerds.”_ Ruby snickered, watching the two men talk. “Hey wait-- who's _that_ chick?” she asked, nodding toward a woman behind them with thick, dark hair.

“Dorothy Gale. Collectibles.”

“...Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I just… don't remember ever seeing _her_ on the show.”

“Might have something to do with the fact that you don't actually _watch_ it…” Belle said haughtily, as if reading her mind.

 _Probably._ “Whatever.”

There was a sudden stirring of activity in the room as the appraisers and event staff began returning to their stations. David must have made a light joke because Rumford laughed, giving the younger man a warm pat on the back before they parted ways. His booth must have been toward the front of the room, because he started walking in their direction, stopping to toss his empty water bottle into the recycle bin by the door. He peeked through the doors at the crowd of people waiting outside and smiled, giving a little wave when a small round of applause sounded from the few rows of people who were close enough to see him.

“Oh, God…” Belle swooned, and Ruby caught her as she leaned on her shoulder.

“Seriously? Is it that bad?”

_“Yes.”_

Ruby peered through the doors again, feeling her mouth go dry this time when she was faced with Dorothy Gale walking in their direction. The woman made eye contact with her as she walked to her booth (as least Ruby was pretty sure she did), and acknowledged her with a little nod.

“Belle, I take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about this show…”

“Alright, folks!” one of the event workers shouted over the crowd. “Have your tickets and your item ready! Every party must have an item-- I repeat every party must have at least one item, and no more than two! If you do not _have_ an item, we _cannot_ let you inside! If you have more than two items, we cannot let you inside! If you have a large item or collection that was checked in earlier, have your receipt ready!”

Belle looked up at Ruby with her book clutched tightly against her chest. “This is so exciting!” she squealed, bouncing on her toes.

Ruby smiled at her friend’s enthusiasm. Dorothy Gale had vanished by the time she looked through the doors again, but perhaps this day wasn’t going to be quite as boring as she thought it would.

 

 

*****

 

 

Once the doors were opened and they were let inside, Belle and Ruby were herded into yet another line where a crew member was checking each guest’s item and directing them to the appropriate line.

When it was their turn, the woman gave Belle’s book half a glance and handed her a little color-coded yellow ticket. “Books and manuscripts-- line fifteen, Dr Isaac Heller.” she said, nodding to the left.

Belle took a half step forward and blanched. “Wait, _what?”_

“Line fifteen. Dr Isaac Heller.” she repeated. “It's on the ticket.”

“No, no.” Belle stammered, her cheeks burning red and her pulse racing. That couldn't be right. _You did_ _not_ _come this far just to endure a minute with the narcissistic creeper that is Dr Isaac Heller._ “See, I-- I came here to see Dr Rumford Gold.”

“Dr Gold is on pottery and porcelain today, ma'am.”

“But-- you don't understand. I _need_ to see Dr Gold…” Belle pleaded weakly. _And convince him to meet me for coffee._

The woman groaned and rolled her eyes. “You'll be free to observe his booth once you finish your appraisal with Dr Heller.”

 _“Look,”_ came Ruby's voice. “You're just doing your job-- I respect that. But my friend here is basically Dr Gold's number one fan and if she doesn't get her book appraised by him today, I'm going to have to spend the next week of my life watching her eat copious amounts of Häagen-Dazs and crying herself to sleep on my living room sofa." She paused a took a deep breath. " _Please_ don't do that to me.”

The woman studied the pair of them, sticking out like sore thumbs amidst a sea of senior citizens, and sighed. “Tell you what-- I'm gonna write _your friend here_ an exception.” she said, grabbing a pink colored ticket and scrawling an approving signature on it. She handed Belle the new ticket in exchange for the yellow one she'd given her earlier and nodded to the right. “Books, manuscripts, pottery and porcelain, line _three,_ Dr _Rumford Gold.”_

“Thank you!” Belle squeaked. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Thank you so much!”

“Next!” the woman shouted.

 _“Thank you,”_ Ruby mouthed again, ushering Belle forward.

It felt a little uncomfortable being the only party with a book in Dr Gold’s line, but once things started moving, Belle couldn't bring herself to care. She watched, hanging on to every word as he explained the values of everyone's wares. Being there in person however, was vastly different from a watching at home. Belle knew the producers only picked a small handful of appraisals to air on the show, and it was clear why.

Countless people had items of no significant value at all, and Rumford had to politely inform them of the fact. He'd still do his best to date it, describe the style, and its influences, but Belle could pick up on his boredom and disappointment when guests would present him with what was, in a word, _junk._

Of course, there were plenty of guests who were none too happy with what Rumford told them, insisting that he look at their item again, or that he was a quack who didn't know what he was talking about. Belle and Ruby watched these exchanges with their brows up to their hairlines. But Rumford seemed to manage just fine, shutting them down with a witty remark and sending them on their way. It was a side of him Belle had never seen on the show, and while some of his quips struck her as a bit rude, she couldn't say that the target didn't deserve it. As small as she was, she knew what it meant to have to demand respect from strangers. However, some of his other comments were just downright silly, and she found herself giggling several times as she waited in line.

But as she got closer to the front of the line, her nerves began to kick in. She was fidgeting, and wiping her palms over her skirt over and over. _What if your book is a worthless piece of junk? What if the crew realizes you have a book and wants to send you back to Dr Heller's booth? What if you make a fool of yourself? Not just on national television (which you could probably deal with), but in front of_ _Rumford? (In which case you would have to find the nearest ditch to crawl into and die)_

 _“Hey. Belles.”_ Ruby said, elbowing her in the side. “You're up, kiddo.”

Belle followed the pointed glance she threw in Rumford’s direction and just about fainted at the sight of him waiting for her. He was smiling, nodding and beckoning her over with a crook of his fingers. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

 _Bravery will follow,_ she reminded herself, holding her chin up high and stepping up to the table beside him. He smelled better than she could have possibly imagined and was smaller than she expected, hardly a few small inches taller she was her in her heels. A crew member pointed out the specific spot where she needed to stand and she got into position, finding Ruby waiting off to the side and grinning ear to ear.

 _"Knock him dead, kid,"_ she mouthed and winked, giving two thumbs up.

Belle took another deep breath and looked up at him. _Dr Rumford Gold._ Right there. Before her eyes. Live and in person. In the flesh.

He turned to face her with a smile. “What's your name, dearie?” he asked softly.

“Belle.” she answered stiffly. “Mis- Gold. Mister--no, I'm sorry. _Doctor_ Gold.”

He gave a polite smile. “Mr Gold is fine.”

“...French.” she blurted.

Rumford knit his brows together. _“...Pardon?”_ He asked with lopsided little smirk on his face.

“Belle French. My um, name is Belle French.”

“Ah.” he smiled and extended a hand out to her. “Lovely to meet you, Belle.”

Belle's mind finally caught up in that moment. _Oh!_ _Pardon._ _That was a joke! You said French and he said pardon. He could have said excuse me, or what? But pardon is French. Would it be weird if you laughed now? Probably. Don't be weird, Belle. Play it cool._

“You're amazing.” Belle found herself saying as she shook his hand. It was so soft and warm and everything she'd imagined it would be. Not that she thought about it that often. Definitely not.

“Excuse me?”

“I… I'm a big fan of your work, Mr Gold.” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a jumble. “You uh… you're my favorite appraiser.”

 _“Oh.”_ His eyes panned across the conference center over the other appraisers and he blinked owlishly, not sure how to respond. As if the very concept of having a favorite appraiser was foreign to him. The lineup was different for each event, relying primarily on a pool of local experts-- but the handful who followed the tour any given year or got invited to come back when the show returned to their area sometimes gained a small following. “...Thank you.”

“I’ve read your dissertation on feminism and the arts and crafts movement about a dozen times.” Belle confessed.

“Oh.” he eked out again, this time a soft blush coloring his cheeks. “Well I ah, I'm flattered.”

“And your series of critiques on--” Belle cut herself off. _You sound like a stalker. Don't sound like a stalker._ She cleared her throat and shook her head. “I'm uh, finishing up my Master's degree in library science.” she concluded as calmly as she could when she realized the crew was watching them impatiently.

“Ah.” he smiled and nodded. “A noble field.” he said, clasping his hands together. “Well ah, why don't you tell me about what you've brought here today, Mrs French?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The appraisal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These dorks were quite popular on TMI Tuesday this week. You can [check out the Q&A in this fic's tag on my tumblr.](http://ifishouldvanish.tumblr.com/tagged/fic%3A+the+boston+hour/chrono/) :)

“Why don't you tell me about what you've brought here today, Mrs French?”

“Oh, no– No _Mrs.”_ Belle rushed to correct him, jumping at the opportunity to point out her relationship status. “I'm not seeing anyone. _...I mean married._ I'm not married.” she clarified, setting her book on the table with trembling hands. “...Not that I'm uh, _seeing anyone_ either. Because that statement is also very true.”

Rumford’s brows hiked upwards and his mouth hung open. It looked like he was about to say something, but instead the color of his cheeks just deepened. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Please, ah– accept my apologies, _Miss_ French. I... didn't mean to presume.”

“You know– it's fine.” Belle said with a swat of her hand. “You can uh, call me whatever you want, Mr Gold.” she smiled, and in the corner of her eyes caught Ruby struggling to hide a burst of laughter.

“...Oh.” Rumford's lips remained rounded by the syllable for a moment before slowly curling into a grin. “Of course.” He cleared his throat loudly and focused his attention to the book. “Well then, let's get into it, shall we?”

“Yeah. Yes. I'd love to.” Belle nodded. “Get into it with you.”

He started tapping his finger on the edge of the table as he studied the cover in silence, and Belle had never seen him do _that_ before. _Was he nervous? Impatient?_ He stopped tapping, but the energy seemed to redirect itself to clenching and unclenching his jaw. _“Son Beau Héros... Her Handsome Hero.”_ he finally read aloud, seeming to relax as the words left his lips. He reached his hand out to touch it, but hesitated. “...May I?”

“Yes!” she blurted. “I mean, _yes.”_ she said more calmly, shifting from one foot to the other and uselessly tucking a lock of hair that was already nested safely behind her ear. “You can uh, _touch if you want.”_

“Thank you. So– would you mind ah, telling me about how this came into your possession?” he asked, plucking a pair of reading glasses out of his jacket pocket. Belle watched with her jaw halfway to the floor as he quickly shook his hair out of his face and slid them up the sharp angle of his nose.

 _Oh God, the glasses. He put the glasses on._ Suddenly it felt as though all of Earth's gravity was pulling straight toward her ovaries. And had the air conditioning been shut off? _Stay calm, Belle. Deep breaths._

He gently caressed the cover with his fingers, but there was a practiced thing about it, like he was feeling for something. Gauging the condition of the cloth cover, Belle figured. But by God, did he have nice hands.

“...Miss French?”

“Oh. I uh, my mother gave it to me.” Belle said, blinking herself out of her trance. “It belonged to her mother. And her mother before that. ...It's been in the family for five generations.” She added proudly.

“That's wonderful. I ah, always love a family heirloom.” he said, finally looking away from the book and back up at her with a smile.

“I’ve noticed.” Belle said, nibbling her lip and trying not to turn bright red at how creepy she probably sounded. _But it was true!_ The handsome gleam in his eyes always grew ever more present once the owner mentioned a history of the item being proudly passed from one generation to the next. He was a sentimental man, Belle imagined, and it only made her more attracted to him.

He continued to trace his fingers along the edges and spine of the binding, leaning in closely and checking for any tears. “It's in _immaculate_ condition…” he noted quietly, as if to himself. “Your family has done an excellent job taking care of it.” he added, flitting his eyes back up to her.

“Oh. Um, thank you. My mother was a librarian too, and I uh, took some classes on archiving and preservation a few semesters ago. So it's in good hands, I'd say.” she chuckled awkwardly.

He gave a tight-lipped smile. “Well… I'm sure as someone with a passion for books and research, you already have a good idea of what it is you've got here?”

Belle grinned from ear to ear at the acknowledgement. She’d long since gotten used to the disinterested looks she’d get from people when she told them her major. But Rumford seemed to respect and admire her for it. _A noble field,_ he’d called it. “...Somewhat.”

He tilted his head and gave her a knowing smile that made her heart swell in her chest. “And what have you found?”

Belle squared her shoulders and gingerly opened the book to its title page. “I've searched high and low for other copies, and to be honest, it's as if none exist. I've reached out to several libraries and archives and no one's heard of it _or_ the publishing house– _Editions du Avonlea._ I’m sure that doesn't help the desirability of it, but it was printed in 1882, and by my estimation, the page boards must be original. It's in excellent condition for its age, and with the gold-pressed artwork on the cover, whatever it might be lacking in literary merit, it must compensate for as a piece of art.”

Belle caught her breath and relaxed a little. At least _that_ came out right.

Rumford wet his lips and the corner of his mouth tugged upwards into a little smile. “That's a very fair assessment, Miss French.”

He looked _impressed,_ and it emboldened her to take a half-step closer to him. It earned her another nice whiff of his cologne, and her whole body tingled like he was giving off some kind of sexy silver fox radiation. Whatever it was, she was basking in it.

“Now, as I'm sure you're aware– _but if you'll allow me to point out for our viewers at home–”_ he began, “there's four main criteria we look at when assessing the value of a book: desirability, rarity, condition, and provenance– that is, any signatures or notable previous owners who might be unique to the specific copy in question.”

Belle watched as his hand rubbed gently across the binding and nodded eagerly. “Uh-huh…”

“So you've already established that it's extremely rare, and as we can see, it's in excellent condition. We've also no reason to expect it's ever belonged to anyone outside of your own family, correct?”

“Correct.”

He opened the book up to the title page and wet his lips. “Now, we have an anonymous author. As far as the book's desirability goes, the bad news is you don't have an esteemed name to go off of. But the good news is that always makes for a more–”

“A more interesting story?”

He stopped talking and gave her a curious look, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

_Dammit Belle, why did you have to interrupt him?_

“...Yes, precisely.” he smiled. “Authors, especially during this time period, would often have their work published anonymously if the material was something that might be deemed rather… _incendiary._ Pseudonyms were also common of course, but more often employed by women writers as a means of bypassing prejudices in publishing. Now, have you read the book? Could you tell me what it is about?”

“Well…” Belle bit her cheek and shifted on her feet. “It's a uh… romance? A um, a rather colorful one.”

“Oh, so it's illustrated?” he asked, already starting to leaf through the pages. “A text this old with good plates could easily be worth a small fortune. About how many would you say–”

“No, it's not illustrated. In color, anyway. I just mean that the uh, language is colorful.” she explained, wringing her hands together and bracing herself for his reaction. “It's kind of a uh, how should I say, um... erotic? Novel?”

He stopped flipping through the pages and looked up at her, a deep blush rising to his cheeks.

“Yeah. Um _, yes._ An erotic novel.” she repeated to spare him the discomfort of asking to confirm for himself what his ears had just heard. “I mean–maybe not an erotic _novel,_ but it has um, erotic _parts.”_

“Oh. Well that's… fascinating.” he said, idly flipping the pages again until one of the engravings caught his attention– an engraving of a couple performing cunnilingus. He blinked at it and quickly moved on to the next page, clearing his throat. “Most erotic novels at this time weren't dated, so that we have a publication date at all is a bit of a blessing.”

_God, he's so professional. You’re a rambling mess showing him Belle Époque porn and he's acting like this is all just totally normal and why is that so attractive? Why is he so attractive?_

“...Twelve.” Belle blurted, finally answering his question from earlier. “There's um, twelve plates.”

“Hm. Have you had any luck determining the artist?” he asked, peeking through the pages again and opening to a more tame engraving of the titular couple locked in an embrace.

“No, I haven't the first clue, unfortunately.” she mumbled, reluctant to admit her ignorance to him.

He narrowed his eyes at the page and skipped ahead to another illustration, going back and forth a few times, comparing them to the cover. He went through about four of the engravings like that before a little smirk crept across his face.

Belle tilted her head and leaned in closely, trying to see whatever it was he must be seeing. “What is it? Did you find something?”

“During the time of this book’s publication, publishers were beginning to rely less on gold leaf for the cover artwork due to the rising costs– gold leaf had to be laid by hand, whereas colored inks could be done with a press. To compensate, they began contracting well-known contemporary artists to design the covers. Obviously, our cover here _is_ gold, but it also has a lovely asymmetrical composition, which was becoming increasingly common with artists at the time. The point being, it's very possible that the artist-designer responsible for this book was someone we might still recognize today.”

“Really? Like who? I mean, do you have any ideas?”

“Are you familiar with a group of artists called _Les Reines des Ténèbres,_ Miss French?”

 _“The Queens of Darkness?”_ she frowned. “No, not at all.”

“The artist's technique is a textbook execution of their design philosophy, and the 1882 publication date, as well as the subject matter, make it a viable attribution.”

“How, um…” she stammered. _Use your words, Belle._ _“How?”_

He scoffed and slid the book closer to her. “Here, let me show you–” he said, leaning in closely and gesturing for her to do the same. Belle did as he instructed, and they were so close to each other– nearly shoulder to shoulder, hunched over an illustration. “During this time, Japonisme was exploding in popularity in Europe. In typical art nouveau pieces, we see motifs such as lotuses, cranes, dragons, serene landscapes… that sort of thing, The lines are delicate, thin, sinuous. But _these_ plates… they're _heavy._ We have these thick borders, heavy, rigid contours, and contrasts that look more like a _gothic woodcut_ than a 19th century lithograph.” He pulled away from the page to look at her, a giddy smile on his face, and leaned in as if to share a juicy secret with her. “In short, well– it looks like nothing else that was being printed out of France at the time.”

 _Oh!_ _Question!_ She inched closer to him, her chin propped up on her elbow, and wet her lips. “Is it possible that they _are_ older than the book? That they're just reproductions of as you said, _gothic_ woodcuts?”

“Oh, I highly doubt it.” he dismissed right away, his eyes not even darting away from hers to give the illustration another look. “The subject matter simply isn't appropriate for the time period. Printing through 16th century Europe was almost exclusively controlled by the church, and these engravings seem to be completely devoid of any Christian imagery. It is however, a fit for the French avant-garde.”

Belle let out a long, contented sigh. She could listen to him talk all day. And he was smiling at her. Mere inches from her face. Heaven's, his eyes were beautiful up close.

He suddenly cleared his throat and stood upright again. “We'd have to do some research to confirm, but it's very possible that what you have here is well–” he scoffed, “impressive, to say the least. _Les Reines des Ténèbres_ were a league of women artists and writers who produced a small number of works featuring taboo subjects, female sexuality, the occult, that sort of thing. However– very little of their work has survived. We have a few letters from the group's founder, Mailys Desrosiers, alluding to the establishment of a publishing company exclusively for women authors, but no evidence that it ever came into fruition. If we could attribute this book to Miss Desrosiers or one of the artists she worked with, one could _begin_ to build the argument that her publishing company _did_ in fact exist, and that it was named _Editions du Avonlea_.”

Belle just blinked at him for a moment, watching as he removed his glasses and returned them to his pocket.

“At auction, a piece like this could expect to sell for about one thousand– assuming the author and illustrator are never confirmed to be of any repute. People are ah, fascinated by vintage erotica, so that makes it an attractive item to collectors. Book and art collectors alike also love to see editions with these beautiful, illuminated designs on the cover like we have here,” he explained, gently closing the book. “However, if we could get an attribution to _Les Reines des Ténèbres_ , that figure would be closer to eight.”

“...Wow.” Belle chuckled in disbelief.

“I take it you don't intend to sell, but I would strongly advise you get this appraised properly for insurance purposes, Miss French.” He finished. “Now ah– do you have any further questions about the piece?”

“Um…” Belle _wanted_ to have questions, but her mind was drawing a blank. “Could you just uh, spell those names for me?”

He smiled and produced a business card from his pocket. “Certainly, ah–” he looked out at the crowd as he pat himself down, looking for a pen.

“Oh! Here, I got one–” Ruby chimed in, digging through Belle's purse and fishing out a pen from the library.

“Lovely, thank you.” He accepted it with a nod and returned to the table, scribbling the information down on the back. “There you are, Miss French.”

Belle accepted it from him slowly, letting her fingers brush over his. It was a card from his own shop. With his contact information and everything. _Mr Gold Pawn and Antiquities, Syracuse, NY._ And by God, did he have beautiful penmanship. Of course he did.

“Th-thank you.”

“Any other questions?”

 _God,_ she'd ask him dozens of questions if her brain was functioning properly. But of course, it wasn't. “No, um… none that I can think of at the moment, no.”

The little smile on his face slipped away at that. “Oh. Well. Then I ah… hope that what we've talked about here today will help open a few doors for your research efforts.” he said, offering his hand.

“Yes. Thank you, I'm sure it will.” Belle nodded, giving a nervous smile and shaking his hand. He held on longer than she expected him to, not that she was about to complain. Their hands finally fell back to their sides, and soon enough Belle accepted it was time to grab her book and leave. They both reached for it at the same time however, and Belle hesitated for a moment before deciding to let go and have him hand it to her.

“Thank you…” Belle said, flustered and cradling the book tightly against her chest like a schoolgirl.

“Where ah– where are you studying? If you don't mind my asking.”

 _Was he kidding?_ Belle thought, _I'd happily give him my social security number if he asked!_ “Oh. Uh, University of Storybrooke. In Maine. I'm um, an assistant at the local public library there. ...In Storybrooke.”

He tilted his head and wet his lips. “They must have an excellent program there.”

An awkward bark of laughter leapt out of Belle's mouth. _Did he have the slightest idea what he was doing to her?_ “Oh, yeah. It's um, it's great.”

“You know… if you ah, find out anything further about your book, well– I-I’d love to hear about it.” he said with a nervous little chuckle. “It's quite a stunning edition.”

Belle bit down on her lip, fighting back a smile. _He just gave her an excuse to contact him._ “Of course.”

He held the pen back out to Ruby, but she just shook her head. “You can keep that.” she winked.

“...Right, ah–” he hesitated and smacked his lips. “Have a lovely afternoon, Miss French. Thank you for sharing such a... _beautiful_ piece with me today.”

Belle could feel herself blushing. “Thank you. For um, you know.” she said with a half shrug.

He smiled and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “...Aye. Of course.”

“Thanks.” she said again.

“Thank _you.”_

They stood still, staring at each other for a moment until an event worker began ushering Belle through the line.

“Um, bye. Mr Gold.”

He nodded. “A pleasure, Miss French.”

She slowly began walking away, her legs not wanting to move as if fighting a magnetic pull back toward him until Ruby joined her at her side.

“Okay, that was totally the cutest, most nauseatingly adorable thing I've ever seen.” she whispered, giving Belle her purse back. “I mean, wow.”

“I was awful!”

“I admit, you got off to a rocky start… but he was _so_ into you. I mean, did you catch that dopey look on his face back there? And don't look now, but he's totally checking out your legs. _Told you_ the heels were a good idea.”

Belle looked over her shoulder at the table where the next guest was getting ready, and felt her face grow hot. Rumford was watching her with a smile on his face that widened as their eyes met. A deep blush rose to his cheeks and he promptly shifted his gaze to the piece of Japanese Satsuma ware that was now on the table.

“I said _don't_ look!” Ruby reprimanded, elbowing her side.

“Sorry!” Belle yelped and looked away, unable to hold back the grin booming across her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates for this are gonna slow down a lot while I work on RCIJ (and figure out where I'm going with this because I was seriously not expecting it to become a _thing_ ). Thank you for all of your lovely comments and enthusiasm! *blows kisses*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby works her charm on a certain appraiser. David gives Gold a pep talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a few weeks, so there are _lots_ of TMI questions for these two dorks you can catch up on [in this story's tag on my tumblr!](http://ifishouldvanish.tumblr.com/tagged/tmi:%20bh3/chrono) Thank you all for your lovely questions, comments, and enthusiasm!
> 
> Special thanks to [@Maplesyrup](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Maplesyrup/pseuds/Maplesyrup) for looking over this chapter for me and giving me the push to stop sitting on it and post it already *blows kisses*

Belle was studying Rumford’s business card while she waited outside the ladies’ room for Ruby. It was printed on thick, cream-colored cardstock that had a rich, pulpy texture to it. _Made from 100% recycled paper,_ she thought with a smile. His named was pressed in large, gold, serif letters, and his contact information in smaller, black ones below it. The card felt nice in her hands. The sharp corners pricked her fingers pleasantly when she held it by the edges, rather than folding under the pressure. She might find it a little excessive were it anyone else’s, but somehow it suited him.

“I have his _number…”_ Belle whispered to herself, gliding her thumb over the letterpressing.

“Yeah, I know,” Ruby snorted, appearing at her side and tossing a paper towel in the trash.

 _“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!”_ Belle shrieked, jumping and clutching the card against her chest.

“You looked up his shop like, three years ago, Belle. And then you spent the next _two_ years trying to convince me that Syracuse was the perfect spring break spot.”

“Yeah, but–” Belle took a few panting breaths while her pulse returned to normal. “Ruby, he _gave_ me his number.” She said. “He told me to _call him_ if I find out anything.”

“Yup. That’s… what he said.”

“I mean, that’s practically a date, right? Like, _‘Hey Mr Gold, I’ve made an interesting discovery about my book that I’d like to discuss with you over dinner’–_ right?”

“Oh!” Ruby laughed, “Now it’s _dinner._ I thought it was just coffee!”

“Well, you know… either one.” Belle shrugged. “But _dinner…_ Ruby, I bet he has really good taste in wine. We could sip chardonnay and talk about _La Belle Époque_ at some nice restaurant with good mood lighting and like, a live jazz quartet? We’ll share a dessert and he’ll say something witty and cute to make me laugh and we’ll change the subject to something more personal… Eventually I’ll say something about how late it’s gotten and he’ll offer me a ride home or to my hotel or whatever, and then we’ll kiss.”

Ruby arched a perfectly sculpted brow. “You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?”

“I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?”

“Oh, no!” she assured. “Of course not!”

Belle narrowed her eyes.

“I just think you might be vastly overestimating his game,” she laughed. “He’s a total nerd, Belle! Even _if_ he managed to woo you over dinner and take you home, you guys would probably be standing out on the sidewalk ‘til morning, caught in some infinite loop of blushing and saying goodnight to each other over and over!”

“Oh, shut up!” Belle squawked, her cheeks turning beet red.

“Aw, look at you!” Ruby said, pulling her against her bosom and patting her head. “So cute!”

Belle pulled away and tried to scowl, but couldn’t help smiling instead.

“You’re totally right, though,” Ruby said, “it’s never too soon to start planning the wedding and coming up with names for all the dorky nerd children you’re totally gonna have.”

Belle huffed and tucked Rumford’s card into her purse, trading it for a map of the conference center. A mischievous little grin shaped her lips when she spotted their next point of interest. “Hey Ruby... Why don’t we um, check out what’s going on at the collectibles table?” she suggested, nudging her with her elbow.

“Yeah, sure, I guess,” she shrugged. She followed Belle’s gaze to the table where Dorothy Gale was appraising what looked to be a collection of baseball cards and froze. “Oh. Yes.” She started making her way across the room like a hound picking up a scent. “Yes, let’s do that.”

“Wait, Ruby–” Belle followed after her, “what are you doing!?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she said, wiggling Granny’s ring off of her finger. “I’m getting in line.”

“She doesn’t appraise _jewelry!”_

“I know. She appraises collectibles. I’ll just say it belonged to Judy Garland and that she was besties with Granny. It’ll be fine.”

“She’ll never believe that!”

“She doesn’t have to,” Ruby grinned, wiggling her brows.

“You don’t even have a ticket!” Belle argued, “You can’t be in this line!”

“So?” she scoffed, “It’s not like they ever asked to see yours.”

Unable to form a rebuttal, Belle just gave a resigned huff and joined her in line. “...Fine.”

Dorothy’s line moved much more quickly than Rumford’s did. Her style of appraisal was far more to the point, and due to the nature of collectibles, most people already knew what they had (or believed they had) and were purely interested in finding out a price tag. She seemed to be capable of spotting fakes and forgeries a mile away, which only heightened Belle’s unease over Ruby’s plans to give her the ring. But soon enough it was their turn, and Belle stepped aside to watch Ruby’s appraisal.

“Alright, so whaddya got for me?” Dorothy asked, one hand resting on the surface of the table while the other was situated firmly on her hip. She eyed Ruby curiously, looking for the item she didn’t seem to have.

Ruby held the ring up between her thumb and forefinger. “This ring–” she grinned widely as she placed it gingerly on the table, “belonged to Judy Garland.”

Dorothy’s eyes swept slowly away from Ruby’s face and down to the ring. “...No it didn’t.”

“What– Oh now, _come on!”_ Ruby cried, “You didn’t even _look_ at it!”

Dorothy glanced down at it, an amused grin creeping across her face. “Judy may have endured five husbands, ma’am– but none of them gave her this ring.”

Ruby clutched her chest, blinking in shock. _“...Ma’am?”_ She repeated the word weakly, the breaking of her heart evidenced by the cracking of her voice.

“You really ought to know better than to try passing something off as Judy Garland’s to collectibles appraiser named _Dorothy Gale.”_

Ruby held up a finger to protest, and Belle took a step back, considering whether or not she might deny any association with her should she get them kicked out of the venue. She was always up for a little adventure, but not if it meant being banned from the roadshow for picking a fight with an appraiser.

“Yeah well, you might–” Ruby cut herself off, letting out a sigh and slouching her shoulders. “...have an excellent point.”

“I have to hand it to you though,” Dorothy chuckled, “it takes a hell of a lot of nerve.”

Ruby’s lips curled into one of her trademark megawatt smiles. She leaned over the table on her elbows, resting her chin in her palm. “Yeah, you could say that. I’m told I uh, got gumption.” she said, wiggling her brows.

Dorothy looked her up and down for a moment, then leaned across the table and into her face. “I tell you what– Why don’t you take one of those,” she said, nodding across the table at a stack of her business cards, “and you can give me a call when you come up with something better than Grandma’s wedding ring.”

Without taking her eyes off of her, Ruby plucked one of the cards off of the table. “...will do.”

Belle watched in fascination as the two of them stood upright again, staring each other down in some unwavering battle of wills. Were they really flirting like that? Ruby had just jumped in without a plan and it was seriously working?

Dorothy reached out to shake her hand. “Have a nice day, Ms–”

“Lucas. Ruby Lucas.”

She arched a brow and scoffed. “As in ruby slippers?”

Ruby's grin widened and she licked her lips. “...Well, I _would_ take you home, so I guess the shoe fits.”

Dorothy rolled her eyes and shook her head disapprovingly, but was betrayed by a smile she couldn’t quite hold back and a laugh she couldn’t suppress.

“That’s right. So don't you forget it.” Ruby winked.

“Something tells me I couldn't if I tried.” Dorothy said. “Now go on– some of the people in this line actually have something for me to look at.”

“Alright, alright, I'm leaving…” Ruby sighed. She returned the ring to her finger and began dragging her feet away from the table over to where Belle was waiting, then looked back over her shoulder, waving Dorothy’s card in the air. “You _will_ be getting a call from me, though!” She shouted.

“I look forward to it.” Dorothy laughed, already giving her attention to the next item being placed on her table.

Belle let out a relieved sigh as Ruby returned to her side, grinning ear to ear. “That… went really well, I think.” she said, studying the business card.

 

*****

 

Gold sat in the break room examining his new pen while the air conditioning hummed overhead. He'd been overly conscious of it in his pocket since the moment he’d tucked it in there. It was like a warmth had been radiating off of it and heating his chest, threatening to burn him if he didn't take it out and admire it soon enough.

STORYBROOKE FREE PUBLIC LIBRARY  
3551 Main Street, Storybrooke, Maine  
_"A book is a dream you hold in your hand.” – Neil Gaiman_

Belle French. What a fitting name for such a lovely woman. Soft brown hair, beautiful blue eyes, an accent he wouldn't soon forget. Her smile? Radiant. And her laughter? Like one of Chopin’s frolicking waltzes.

And she was a _librarian._ A guardian of the quest for knowledge and the accessibility of information. A cartographer of the written word, and in turn, the entire gamut of the human experience. She’d said she admired his work. Read and re-read it. Normally he felt embarrassed when anyone mentioned his old academic work– as though he’d been caught in his underpants. But instead he felt well and truly flattered.

“Someone’s in a good mood today.”

Rumford nearly fell out of his chair, the momento of his bewitching guest jumping out of his hands and clacking onto the linoleum floor. “What do _you_ want?”

“Easy– You should smile more often, Gold.” David winked. “Really changes your whole face.”

“I wasn't… _smiling.”_ he grumbled and stared into his coffee cup, which had already cooled to far below what could be considered a passable drinking temperature fifteen minutes ago. “And I know you know better than to imply there's anything wrong with my face.”

“I was talking to Fa, the camerawoman? She said you did one hell of an appraisal on a rare book for a very pretty lady...”

Rumford busied himself with a hefty swig of his coffee, trying not to pull a face at how cold and disgusting it was. Nevermind the fact that his colleague was patronizing him.

“I heard you gave her your number...”

“Please.” he scoffed. “I gave her my _card.”_

“Ah, so you gave her your phone number, address, and email.” David nodded his approval. “I'm impressed.”

“She asked me to spell a name, so I wrote it down for her. Nothing more, nothing less.” He set the styrofoam cup on the table and began picking at the rim with great interest. “...I didn't give her anything that isn't on the pamphlets.” he said, his voice coming out weak and uneasy.

“But did you get _her_ name?”

“Belle French–” He answered right away and clamped his mouth shut, realizing it was a trap too late.

“Aha…” David grinned ear to ear and squat down to pick up the pen. He took a moment to read the small lettering on it before handing it back to him. “A librarian, huh?”

“Yes, a _librarian,”_ he said, swiping it from his hand.

“From Maine. That's not… too far from Syracuse.”

“It's far enough that I won't have to worry about ever seeing her again.”

“Sure, if that's what you want.” David sighed, lowering himself into the seat beside him. “So dramatic.”

“Well for starters, she’s far too young for me, and… well...” he scowled and turned away in favor of continuing.

“Is that all you’ve got?” David countered, “Because from what I heard, she sounds perfect for you. Intelligent, sweet, peppy, and apparently–” he chuckled, _“very available.”_

Rumford rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the fact that he was blushing again. She _had_ been terribly eager to correct him on her marital status. He hated being wrong, hated being corrected and called out on a mistake. But in this case? He couldn’t bring himself to mind.

“You should make a move, is all I'm saying. She’s _clearly_ interested; let her know the feeling’s mutual. See what happens.”

God, he hated how easy David made these things sound. And _was_ she? _Was_ she clearly interested? He could date a piece of porcelain in a matter of seconds from a mile away, but _women?_ No, no. Scratch that. _People?_ They vexed him. Even the the ones he thought he had all figured out– _Especially_ the ones he thought he had figured out. “I already know what happens.” he mumbled.

“Oh, come on, Gold!” David groaned, but a perfect, handsome smile was planted on his face. “When's the last time you put yourself out there, really?”

Rumford huffed and looked away. “So what am I supposed to do? Just... go up to her and–” he cut himself off in favor of shrugging and throwing up his hands.

David laughed and shook his head. He rested a hand on Rumford’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Just _talk_ to her.”

He folded his arms over his chest and sank further into his seat. “Easy for you to say, Prince Charming.”

“Hey now, come on– you're a great catch!” David said. “A good looking guy like you? You’re smart, well-spoken, and underneath the designer suits and dry wit, you've got a heart of–”

“Don't–”

_“Gold.”_

Rumford scowled and stared at the pen again, clicking it in a slow, steady rhythm. His exchange with Miss French left him feeling exhilarated. She was smart and sweet and beautiful and exuded a warmth that instantly thawed his cold and guarded heart. He couldn’t help smiling to himself as he recalled their conversation, how nervous she was, how nervous she made him. It all just made him feel so… _tingly._ He already knew the unfortunate truth– he was never going to be able get Belle French out of his head. Her smile, her blue eyes, her laugh, her… well, definitely not her legs in that dress and those shoes… It wouldn’t do to think about that.

“Alright, look– Fa showed me the reel, Rum.” David confessed. “You were _flirting_ with her.”

The interruption yanked Rumford out of his reverie. “I– _what?_ I was not!”

“Oh, yes you were.” David grinned. “There were _sparks,_ buddy.”

“I’m sorry–” he blinked in disbelief.“...S-sparks?”

“Sparks.” David repeated, giving him an encouraging clap on the back. “Go. Find her. Talk to her.”

Rumford swallowed hard. “A-Alright.” he nodded, and suddenly it felt like his tie was too tight and the room was too hot. “I’m… I'm going to find her. And _t-talk_ to her.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the afternoon session comes to a close, Gold gets an opportunity to talk to Belle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy more of these two dorks trying to flirt with each other! Once again, you can [catch up on the TMI Tuesday Q&A for this story on my tumblr blog](http://ifishouldvanish.tumblr.com/tagged/tmi%3A+bh4), if you're into that sort of thing. :)

“...The quality and craftsmanship of these pieces began to decline considerably after the fifteenth century. Prior to that time, they were commissioned almost exclusively by nobility, but as the popularity of the style grew, more and more pieces were being commissioned by the bourgeoisie. The pieces produced for these smaller, more numerous commissions lacked the care and attention to detail enjoyed by their predecessors, and as a result, that popularity quickly began to decline. However, in the late eighteenth century, Carlos III of Spain ordered an effort to–”

Rumford was appraising an impressive example of Hispano-Moresque lustreware when a petite figure in a blue dress stepped into his peripheral, completely destroying what little focus he had managed to keep since his conversation with David. Suddenly his thoughts were filled only with Miss French, and he had to force himself to finish his appraisal.

“An effort to p-preserve the ah… the _techniques,_ which inspired a– inspired… a, um… r-r- _revival_ of the style in the… the ah, mid ninth– _I mean mid nineteenth–_ century. Which is... what I– what I believe we h-have here. Based on the ah, the coloring and the patterns used.”

He tore his attention away from the ornate dish like he'd been drowning and Miss French was the breath of fresh air waiting for him at the surface.

And there she was. Miss Belle French, heading in his direction. A Venus with her auburn waves, her plump, berry-stained lips, and towering heels. _Good grief._ Was it possible that she'd somehow gotten even more beautiful since he'd spoken with her little more than two hours ago? He watched as her friend showed her something on her phone, and she pouted her lips in thoughtful deliberation before nodding. Her friend then whispered something to her and winked, and Belle blushed– her smile blinding in its brilliance as she laughed.

Rumford swallowed hard.

 _He was going to talk to this woman? He was going to ask her out on a date?_ _Was he out of his bloody mind?_

He coughed and looked back to the dish in front of him. “A um, a piece like this would likely fetch about twelve hundred dollars at auction.” He finished quickly, the words barreling out of his mouth in a jumble. He half-assedly shook the owner’s hand, and as they left the table and the next guest was setting up, he chanced another glance over the small crowd to look for Belle.

It took him a moment to find her, because she was already so much closer than he expected her to be– as close to the front of the line as she could be without actually being _in_ it. His breath caught in his lungs at the sight of her so near, and she bit back a coy little smile as their eyes met– a gesture he couldn't help returning. His whole body felt like it was buzzing, but the sensation somehow felt more pleasant and exciting to him than terrifying. Mostly.

 _She came back!_ That had to mean she liked him, right? But also, _she came back?_ To watch him? How in God's name was he supposed to finish the rest of his appraisals for the day knowing her eyes were going to be on him the whole time? He should stop staring probably, but she was staring at him and smiling, so surely that meant he could stare and smile too?

“We ready?”

Rumford started at the sound of Fa’s voice and shook away his rambling thoughts. “Right.” he cleared his throat. “Yes, ah… of course.”

Fa snickered behind the camera and motioned for him to begin, and he finally wrangled his attention onto the pair of Vienna cabinet plates on the table.

The rest of his appraisals dragged on, and he both dreaded and eagerly awaited the moment his line of guests would dwindle down to nothing. His eyes kept drifting to Miss French, and the sight of her made him stumble on his words and his heart leap into his throat every time. The little smiles she kept giving him were so disarming, and he had to keep reminding himself to wipe the foolish grin off of his face lest he look like a complete loon on camera.

Soon enough, the line was gone and the time had come. Miss French was still standing at the front of the queue, watching him clean up his station. He was fully aware of the fact that he was stalling. There were only so many specks of dust he could wipe off of the tablecloth, and he had to be looking ridiculous at this point.

 _Talk to her. Just talk to her._ _You can manage that much, you bampot._

He slipped his phone out of his pocket and pretended to check for any missed calls or messages as he stepped away from the safety of his table– because that somehow felt like a good idea. How close should he get to her before he looks up? Should he act surprised? Like he didn't know she was there? Most of the guests had cleared out of the venue by now, it wouldn't be an unreasonable assumption to make, that she'd left with the rest of them. He got closer, closer, eyes fixed on the ground until he could no longer ignore the pair of ruby red heels that were in front of him. His gaze drifted upwards, to the delicate ankles the straps of said shoes were wrapped around, up the pair of shapely legs, over the rich blue of her dress, until– _oh God. What a perfect face. Such a winning smile._ And how did this whole speech thing work again?

“Uh…”

“Hey, Mr Gold.” she said, and how dare she look so happy to see him?

“Miss French.” he said, but the words came out in a whisper. “Hey.”

“Thanks again. For um, looking at my book.” she said, giving it an affectionate little squeeze where she carried it in her arms.

“Of cour–” with a terrible thud, his bloody stupid phone slipped out of his hand and onto the floor. They both stared at it for a moment while he decided whether or not to pick it up. Sod it. Not important. _Just talk to her._ “...Of course.”

“Um–” she wet her lips and shifted on her feet a little. “Yeah, I’ll um, definitely be doing some research into Mailys Desrosiers. So... thank you.”

“That’s– that’s good. I’m glad.” he said, the curve of his lips cracking into a full smile. Was he smiling too much? Did he look mad?

Belle glanced at the floor again and dipped down to pick up his phone. “You um, dropped this.”

He just stared at it in her hand for the longest time, far longer than he should have before registering that he was supposed to take it from her. _“...Oh._ Aye, I did.” he blurted, and _since when had his palms become so sweaty?_ “Thanks. You. _Thank you.”_ He slipped the device back into his pocket and swallowed. Cleared his throat. He should have grabbed another bottle of water when he had the chance. “I ah… It was a pleasure.”

“Yeah. It was.” she agreed, nodding and nibbling her lip, and _Christ._ Had she come back over here just to torture him like that? Did she have any idea, the effect she was having on him?

This was easily number one on the list of all the worst ideas he’s ever had. How did he let David talk him into this? With his, _“You’re a great catch! A good-looking guy like you!”_ Ha! What a joke! He should politely excuse himself. Surely he had something he needed to do, right? Run to the bathroom? No, not that. Think, think, think...

But then David's voice rang clear as a bell through the mess of Rumford’s thoughts. _She's clearly interested. Let her know the feeling's mutual._

He pressed his lips into a thin line, as if it could stop anything stupid from coming out. Took a deep breath. _If you back out now, you'll only live to regret it._ _You can do this. Just talk to her._

“Y-You know, I–” he cut himself off and scoffed. _Commit._ “We... If you um– If you _wanted,_ maybe we could ah, _talk._ Again? Sometime–”

 _“Oh.”_ Belle’s cheeks flushed pink and her grin widened, and Rumford felt like he would die right there on the spot.

“A-About the book, I mean.” he blurted. The light in her blue eyes dimmed a little at that, and _why had he thought that would be a good thing to say?_ “Or um… anything, really.” He added, and her eyes brightened again. _Yes, good save._

“I’d um, I’d really like that.”

“It’s just um– well, I think… I ah, I thoroughly enjoyed t-t-talking with you.” he stammered. “Well, not think, I mean I _did._ Enjoy. ...Talking with you. Miss French.”

“Me too. _Mr Gold.”_ She was smiling, but she was also pressing her lips together at the same time and it was by far one of the cutest things he'd ever seen before in his whole pathetic life.

“So, ah… _yes.”_ he nodded, his mouth answering a question that hadn't even been asked.

The tip of her tongue poked out and swept across her bottom lip, and she looked over her shoulder to where her friend was waiting. They exchanged slight nods and Belle looked back at him. “You know, my friend Ruby and I were um, gonna try one of the bars in the area tonight?”

“Oh.” Was she inviting _him_ out?

“Aesop’s Tables? It's um, supposed to be two blocks east of here I think?”

“Aye. I've ah, passed by it a few times.”

“So, maybe you could um… join us?”

“Yes.” he nodded again. _God bless._ “Yes of course.”

“O-Okay.” She said it with a tremulous little laugh, as if she couldn't believe he'd said yes. As if saying no to her was even an option. _Preposterous._ “I'll… look for you there? At uh, eight-ish?”

“Eight-ish sounds good.” he said, and he noticed his cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so much. He didn't really care though, because his heart just felt so light and tingly and shiny and _good_ and he'd just _made plans with Miss French!_

She did that thing again where she bit her lip and smiled. Then her eyes swept over him from head to toe and back again and he felt like he might combust. Like an ant under a magnifying glass in the summer sun. But in a good way? What that possible? It was as if all his senses had been heightened tenfold. He could feel every individual fiber of his shirt against his skin, hear his pulse, smell… well, something mildly offensive.

“So I guess I'll uh, see you then.” she said.

“Aye.”

She bounced on her toes and wet her lips. “I can't wait.”

He laughed, but it didn't make any noise, and he had to stop himself before it turned into wheezing. “I ah, look forward to it. Miss French.”

“Yeah. Well, I'll uh, see you later then?” she asked, and now she was swaying, shifting her weight from one foot to the other..

He nodded quickly. “Yes. Yes, definitely.”

“Okay.”

“...Yeah.”

“Thanks again.”

“You too. I mean, _no._ I mean– _”_ he coughed into his fist. “The ah, pleasure was all mine.”

She blushed at that and it just had to be from secondhand embarrassment, right? There was no way he wasn't making a complete ass of himself. “Well, um… good luck with the next session.” she said. “Mr Gold.”

His body eased a little, the end of this torturous conversation finally in sight. “Thank you. I... hope you uh, enjoyed the event. Miss French.”

Her eyes lit up and she smiled. “Oh, it was everything I hoped it would be! You were um– _you were amazing.”_

“Oh,” he chuckled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and blushing. “Well, I don't know about that–”

“Well, _I_ think you were...” she murmured, and Rumford was pretty sure the color of her cheeks was deepening. _Good Lord._ If _she_ was blushing, he could only imagine what _he_ looked like.

“That's… very kind of you to say.”

She pressed her lips into another tight smile and began rubbing her thumb two and fro over the corner of the cover of her book. “You're just always so thorough,” she said. “I mean, I just really appreciate how much of an emphasis you put on not just assigning value to the items you appraise, but on describing the um, socio-economic environment that produced them.”

“Oh.” He blinked and took a calming breath. He could talk about antiques. He talked about antiques all day. “Well I– I’ve always found that to be the most interesting thing about many antiques.” he said. “I like to think that our viewers feel the same way.”

“Well, this one does.” she chuckled. “You um, you just really tell a story with each piece.”

“Thank you.” He tried not to grin too widely at that, but it wasn’t every day that someone barraged him with compliments about his work– let alone someone as enchanting as Belle French. “I ah... I appreciate that. Truly.”

“I remember you were doing paintings and drawings back in Seattle two seasons ago and somebody brought in that um, engraving by uh… the German artist…?”

 _She remembered the items he appraised two seasons ago?_ If he wasn’t grinning like a fool before, he was now. “Max Klinger?”

“Yes! And you talked about the great upheaval brought on by the industrial revolution and how it um, influenced the art at the time.”

“Aye.” he nodded. “It is a… fascinating topic.”

“I mean, the segment they aired was only like, two minutes, but I could have listened to you talk about that for _hours.”_

 _“Oh._ W-Why thank you.”

“You know,” she stepped closer and wet her lips, “whenever an interesting item gets featured on the show, I like to–”

 _“–Okay!”_ Ruby cut in. “I hate to break this up, but you two little aficionados will have all the time in the world to finish this conversation later.” She put a hand on Belle's shoulder and started to drag her away. “Eight o'clock at Aesop's Tables. We all good?”

Their eyes darted back and forth between Ruby and each other for a moment. They both and nodded in unison.

“Good. See how easy that is?” Ruby teased. “Well now– have a lovely afternoon, Dr Gold. Me and Belle here are gonna get out of here before one of the security people  _drags_ us out.”

Rumford gave an awkward chuckle, his nerves returning with the sudden change of subject. “Right, ah... Have a lovely afternoon.”

They turned to leave, and Belle threw one last look over her shoulder at him. She gave him another one of her precious smiles and waved.

On its own accord, Rumford’s hand reached upwards to give her a little wave back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Rumford (very anxiously) prepare for their date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha, long time no update. Catch up on TMI’s here - [[x](http://ifishouldvanish.tumblr.com/tagged/tmi:%20bh5)].

Sunlight blinded their eyes as Belle and Ruby stepped outside the venue, the heavy door clunking shut behind them. Belle immediately threw a hand over her mouth and squealed, a shrill sound ringing out through the now quiet parking lot.

“Yup.” Ruby said, giving her a pat on the back. “Let it out, girl.”

She turned her head to look her in the eyes, her own wide and gleaming. _“Ruby!”_

“I know.”

 _“Oh my God,_ Rubes!” Belle threw her hands over her face again. “He’s so sweet and handsome and I just–” She gave up on words and squealed again.

“I know.”

She smushed her cheeks back and forth, distorting her rosy, pudgy face. “He’s so cute and he’s gonna–? We’re gonna go–?”

“I know.” Ruby shook her head and laughed.

Belle combed her hair out of her face took a deep breath. Then a second, and a third, finally collecting herself with a heavy sigh. “Do you think he likes me?”

“Hm. Hard to say.” Ruby deadpanned.

Belle narrowed her eyes at her.

“You guys totally complement each other, though,” she laughed. “You ramble when you’re nervous, and he forgets how to form complete sentences.”

“Hey!” Belle snapped. “We were actually starting to have a real conversation back there!”

“I know, I saw. And I’m very proud of you both,” Ruby joked and slung an arm over Belle’s shoulder. “But you see, Belle– you have to leave him wanting _more._ Leave him thinking about all the things he wishes he had a chance to talk with you about.” she winked and began heading toward the car, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Besides– you were about to tell him about your spreadsheet.”

Belle frowned. “What’s wrong with my spreadsheet?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Ruby said. “I just think it might be a little… much?”

“Well, I think he’d be _thrilled_ to know how his accuracy rating compares to the other appraisers on the show.” She said with an indignant little huff, folding her arms over her chest. “A .985 is nothing to sneeze at.”

“Perhaps,” Ruby snickered. “But you know,” she shrugged and glanced back over her shoulder. “You just might wanna save that one for the second date or something.”

“I guess.” Belle sighed and finally rushed to catch up, her heels tapping on the asphalt. “But a _second_ date?! Does this even count as a _first_ date? I don’t think I called it a date. Should I have called it a date? What if he thinks I just like him… in a strictly professional manner, and not in the I-want-to-rip-his-clothes-off-and-ride-him-like-a-bull kind of way?”

Ruby snorted loudly. “Well _damn_ , girl! Should I bring a spray bottle so I can hose you down if you start to get too frisky?” She spun around and mimed a trigger finger. “Down, girl! Bad!” she laughed.

“Ruby!” Belle whined and slouched her shoulders. “You have to _help_ me! I’ve never gone out with a guy I was attracted to _half_ as much as I am to Rumford!”

“You’ll be _fine.”_ Ruby said, swatting a hand through the air. “He’s totally interested. Just be your dorky, nerdy, sexy self.”

“I guess…” Belle mumbled, continuing to follow her across the parking lot before suddenly stopping. “Wait–” She blurted, fumbling to grab Ruby’s shoulder to steady herself.

“What?”

“Ruby–” She leaned in closely and lowered her voice. “I might kiss Rumford Gold tonight. _Dr Rumford Gold_ might kiss me.”

“Yeah, who knows?” she snorted. “You might even get lucky.”

“Oh my God.” Belle said, holding a hand to her heart. “Could you _imagine?!_ Making out with _Rumford?!”_

She curled her lip. “I’d rather not, but sure.”

Belle narrowed her eyes at her, rolling them before starting to walk again. Her heels clicked on the pavement six times before another dreamy sigh escaped her. “God, he’s just so _sexy!”_

“Not sure sexy’s the word _I’d_ use,” Ruby said. “But it _is_ sort of cute how nervous and awkward he got around you.”

“...Do you think we’d make a cute couple?”

“Oh–” she scoffed. “The _cutest._ I mean, c’mon on now.” She held her hand out as they finally reached the car. “Keys?”

“Well, now you’re just telling me what I want to hear,” Belle teased, digging through her purse.

“No! You dorks are practically made for each other. Trust me.”

 

*****

 

The evening session went slowly. A few interesting pieces, but very little to write home about. Even though Miss French had long since left the venue, she continued to occupy Rumford's thoughts. Her smile, her laughter, her passion for her work as well as his own. _Oh,_ he could hardly wait to talk to her again! She was just so lovely! As long as he focused on the positives, he could almost forget about the anxious knot forming in his gut. But the shorter the line of guests in front of him became, the more terrified he became.

He was actually doing this. Going to meet Miss French. To talk. In a social setting. She'd invited him out. _Willingly?_ Surely there had been some kind of mistake? He'd misheard her? _No, no._ She'd definitely been talking to him. She'd definitely asked him out. Miss Belle French had asked him out.

_Good Lord._

He needed to talk to David.

Rumford rushed across the conference center to the staff lounge, hoping he hadn't left just yet. He didn’t see him in there, though– only a custodial worker emptying the trash. Was he in the bathroom? Would it be weird to look for him in there? He stepped out into the main hall and hesitated to decide which way to go.

“So– you talked to her.”

“Good _God!”_ Rumford let out little yelp and spun around, stumbling and clutching his chest when David appeared before him.

His eyes swept over his face, and his mouth curled into a smile. “I'm proud of you, man.”

Rumford slumped back against the wall, panting. “Aye, well, thanks for the bloody heart attack.” he muttered.

“Someone's a little high-strung...” David observed, arching a brow. “What's up? How’d it go?”

He nodded slightly and swallowed, still catching his breath. “She wants to meet at a bar tonight.”

“Hey!” David smiled another one of his stupid, perfect, charming smiles. “That's great!” he said, giving him a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. “Why the long face, then?”

Rumford sighed and stared off at the set of double doors Belle and Ruby had left through hours ago. He pushed away from the wall and stood upright, adjusting his tie and wetting his lips. “...I'm going to throw up.”

“Alright, alright–” David said. He wrapped an arm over his shoulder and walked him back into the lounge. “Come on, let's talk.”

Rumford let David lead him into the break room, both dreading and eagerly awaiting what he might have to say. The custodian was still finishing up, and he found himself studying all the various mops and brooms and bottles of cleaners in their cart with great interest until David began pulling a chair out. The metal feet screeched against the floor, tearing his focus away.

David settled into one of the chairs with a little huff and motioned an invitation for him to take the other. “Sit down.”

Rumford stared at it for a moment and rubbed his fingers together. “I think I'd rather stand.”

“Alright, Well–” David gestured for him to start and folded his arms over his chest. “Let’s hear it. What are you so worried about?”

“I don’t know…” Rumford shrugged and began pacing back and forth across the room. “She just… makes me _nervous.”_ he said, making an empty-handed gesture.

“Yeah. That’s what happens when you like a girl, Rum.” David chuckled. “You care about what she thinks.”

Rumford rolled his eyes and glanced away in time to catch the custodian casting them a sidelong look and an amused smile before wheeling the cart out of the room.

“Oh, come on.” David said, relaxing in his seat a little. “The worst is over. All you have to do now is just show up and be yourself. Have a good time.”

“How–” Rumford stopped pacing and looked at him with a pained expression. “How does that work?”

David laughed and shook his head for a moment before he seemed to realize he wasn't joking. “Well... to start? You need to try to _relax.”_

Rumford let his arms drop to his sides and nodded. “Relax…” He exhaled slowly.

“You already know that she likes you.” he reminded him. “So stop worrying that she won't.”

Rumford groaned. “She likes _Dr Gold–_ the man on TV.” he said, waving a hand through the air. “What if I don't… measure up to that? What if halfway through this… _date,_ she realizes how boring and old I am and changes her mind?”

“Measure up to _what,_ exactly?” David laughed. “Dr Gold isn’t some Hollywood celebrity with a public persona and a PR team.” he said. _“You_ are Dr Gold– personal property appraiser and antiquities dealer from Syracuse who occasionally does appraisals on TV. _You_ are the man she was so excited to meet today, and the man she wants to have a few drinks with later.”

“I…” He looked down at the floor. “I suppose you have a point.”

“You just need to show her a good time. And you're only gonna make it harder for yourself if you look like you want to crawl out of your skin the entire time.” he explained, giving him a pointed once-over.

“And if I _do_ want to crawl out of my skin the entire time?”

David narrowed his eyes. “Look. You clearly have a lot of common interests– Start there. Tell her about some of the other appraisals you did today. Ask her about her favorite books.”

Rumford carded a hand through his hair and nodded. “Okay. I-I can do that.” He finally sank down into one of the chairs, hunching over and bouncing his knee. “You know, I–” he cut himself off and rubbed a hand over his mouth. _“Before–”_ he pointed a finger, “when I did her appraisal. I-I wasn't so… I was _better._ You went so far as to say that I was ah…” he trailed off, hoping David would fill in the blank for him.

_“...Flirting?”_

“Yes!” Rumford coughed and began busying himself with his cufflinks. “I ah, believe that was the word you used...”

David shook his head and stifled a laugh. “Yeah. I was pretty surprised when Fa showed me the tape.”

“So. I just need to… do that again. Get in that… mindset again.”

“Sure.” he shrugged. “You can look it that way, if it helps.”

It sounded so easy, when he put it like that. When he first spoke to Belle, he wasn't nervous at all. She was… well she was just another guest. But then… well then she ceased to be just another guest.

“You gonna be alright?” David asked, arching a brow.

Rumford stood back up and started pacing again. “David, I-I…”

“What is it?”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s… Well, I haven't been out with a woman in– well, since… Just, what exactly is the ah… _custom_ as far as, um–”

David tilted his head. “...Kissing?”

 _“Yes.”_ Rumford coughed. “Among ah, other things…”

David blinked and his eyes grew wide as saucers. “Look, Rum– you know I consider you a good friend and all, but I don't think I want to get involved in your _sex life_ any time soon. Or you know– _ever.”_

Rumford stopped pacing and froze. “What?” He furrowed his brows, then drew his hand to his throat and scowled. “ _...No!”_ he snapped. “Of course not! What kind of–? _No!_ I meant– _flowers!_ Should I get her _flowers!”_

 _“Oh, thank God.”_ David sighed, looking up at the ceiling and slouching back in his seat. He rubbed his temples in silence for a moment. “Well…” He hunched forward again and clasped his hands together. “A lot of women these days consider flowers on the first date to be too much. First dates are a lot more casual now. You know, they're more about just getting a feel for the other person.”

Rumford pressed his lips into a thin line. “And you're certain about that?”

David puffed his cheeks out and exhaled slowly. “Well… _no._ Plenty of women still _do_ like flowers on the first date. But the ones who don't feel like it puts too much romantic pressure on them before they've really gotten a chance to know you?”

He tilted his head. “So _no_ flowers?”

David gave a noncommittal shrug.

“Well, you're bloody helpful.” Rumford muttered.

“Hey!” He threw his hands up. “I don't need to be here, listening to any of this!”

Rumford sighed, holding a hand out in lieu of a white flag. “Aye, I know, I know– Ah’m sorry.”

David straightened his posture and settled back into the chair more comfortably again. “So you're meeting at a bar, you said?”

“Yes. Aesop's. And her ah, friend will be there. I think.”

“Did she _call_ it a date? Or–”

“No.” Rumford dragged a hand over his face and groaned. “Why? What does that mean? You think she doesn't… like me that way?”

“No! No, she definitely does!” he assured. “But maybe just… no flowers, after all.”

“No flowers?”

 _“No flowers._ I think.”

Rumford stared at him for a moment. “...Why?”

“Well, she didn't _call_ it a date,” David shrugged, “and Aesop's is pretty casual. And if her _friend's_ gonna be there…”

“Right.” he nodded. “You're absolutely right. Flowers would be ridiculous.” And desperate. And just a horrible idea.

“Well,” David scoffed, “maybe not _ridic–”_

 _“Ridiculous.”_ Rumford shot down before he could change his mind again. “Now what about the ah… other thing? The ah,” he coughed, “...kissing.”

David rubbed a hand over his mouth and sighed. “I think the best advice I can give you there is to just… let her set the pace. Watch her body language. When in doubt, ask. A simple, ‘ _May I kiss you?_ ’ at the end of the night can be romantic in itself, really.”

“Right. O-okay.” Rumford clenched his jaw, his head bobbing up and down automatically. “Simple enough, I suppose...”

“Look– You got this,” David said, rising up from him seat and giving him a pat on the back. He looked at the door and hesitated. “...And Rum?”

“Yes?”

“Just... you know. Regardless of your _intentions,”_ he stressed, “it never hurts to be _prepared.”_

He wrinkled his nose. “...Prepared for what?”

“You know.” He glanced away. “The _other_ other thing.”

Rumford's eyes darted left to right, and he craned his neck forward as if to hear better. “...I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

David sighed and dragged a hand over his face. “ _Not_ the flowers? The bees?”

Rumford drew his head back and blinked. _“Oh.”_ He looked away, fixing his gaze on the floor, and cleared his throat. “Yes. Well ah... _Good talk, David,_ thank you.”

“...Yeah.” David nodded stiffly, starting towards the door again.

“Have a ah… lovely evening.”

“Yeah, I’ll uh, tell Emma you say hi.”

“Yes.” Rumford coughed. “Do that.”

“Yeah.”

Rumford rubbed his fingers together. “You can leave now.”

“Yup.” David nodded and slipped out the door.

 

*****

 

“I’m just not that hungry.” Belle said, laying the poorly designed menu back down on the table. It seemed that in the time it took to have her quick chat with Rumford, all of the other people at the Roadshow had beaten them to lunch. The diner they'd managed to find a parking spot for was packed and noisy, and doing nothing to help her relax for her date.

Ruby peered over her own menu, arching a brow. “You haven’t eaten anything all day, Belle.”

She shrugged and smiled. “I’m fine!”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Okay. But don’t think I won’t hesitate to smack your hand away if you try to grab one of my fries. I’m starving.”

“Fine.” Belle huffed and picked her menu back up. “...Do you think they’ll let me order a kid’s meal?”

Ruby cracked a smile. “Well, you’re certainly short enough,” she snorted.

“I just don’t have much of an appetite, you know?” she said, checking the time on her phone again.

“Dammit Belle, I’m going to confiscate that thing if you check it one more time!

“I just wanna make sure we’re not late!”

“It’s a quarter after three.” Ruby said. “We have _plenty_ of time.”

“It’s just– maybe we should get there early?”

“If that would make you feel better, sure.”

Belle nodded. “I mean, who knows how busy it’ll be. It _is_ a Saturday night.”

“Fair enough. How early would like to get there?”

She pouted her lips. “...Six-thirty? Seven?”

“Okay.” Ruby agreed, giving a sympathetic smile. “That still gives us plenty of time though,” she said, reaching across the table and snatching Belle’s phone just as her eyes drifted over to it again. “So please. For the love of God, stop checking the time every thirty seconds!”

“Okay! Okay!" Belle through her hands up. "Fine, take it– get it away from me!”

She shook her head and laughed, tucking the phone into her purse. _“Gladly._ Now figure out what you wanna eat– I’m not taking you to a bar on an empty stomach.”

Belle picked her menu back up and raked her eyes over the offerings, tilting her head. “...Do you think the chicken parm is any good?”

“My Belles,” Ruby chuckled. “Going from _‘I don’t have much of an appetite’_ to _‘how do ya think the chicken parm is?’”_

“What?! You’re the one who told me I have to eat!”

“I know, I know!” Ruby laughed. “But to answer your question– it’d be pretty damn hard to mess up chicken parm.”

“Okay, good.” Belle nodded, laying the menu back down again and folding her hands primly over the table. “I’ll have that then.”

As they waited for their food to arrive,at Belle was twiddling her thumbs, looking at all the old photos on the wall that desired the generations of the restaurant's owners. They were interspersed with newspaper clippings boasting glowing reviews of some of the menu items, or pictures of the staff posing with celebrity guests. Then it hit her.

“Ruby.”

“Yeah, what's up?”

“Is there a lot of garlic in chicken parm?"

"...I wouldn't say a _lot._ Why?"

"What if I get garlic breath?”

“You can brush your teeth when we get back to the hotel, Belle. Besides,” she shrugged, “I have like, Tic Tacs and stuff.”

“The mint ones or the orange ones?” she asked. “Because I mean I like the orange ones but I don't feel like they really freshen my–”

“Both.”

Belle let out a relieved sigh. “Okay.”

"You got this, Belle." Ruby said. "I got you."

*****

 

_Ultra thin._

_Ribbed._

_Studded._

_Intense pleasure._

_Climax control._

Rumford's hand hovered over the overwhelming selection of condoms at the drugstore. He looked over his shoulder and waited for the woman further down the aisle to grab her tampons and leave before cautiously plucking one of the boxes off of the shelf.

Black and red with big block letters. Words like ‘MAX _’_ and ‘Intense’ and ‘Ultra’ and _this was ridiculous!_

He quickly put the box back before he could be caught with it, but in his hurry to do so, he knocked about a half dozen others onto the floor.

 _“Bloody Christ.”_ he muttered under his breath, squatting down to pick them up. _Lubricated. Ecstasy. For her pleasure._ He scowled at the boxes as he read them, curious about their claims despite himself.

David wasn't _wrong._ If– _and only if–_ things between him and Miss French ever came to, well... _that_ tonight, they would undoubtedly need protection. But what were the odds of that happening, honest?

_Better to be safe than sorry._

_Would_ he be sorry though? He didn't want to have _sex_ with her, he just wanted to _talk_ to her! For now, at least. Did Miss French want to have sex with _him?_ Is that what this was? Maybe she was one of those empowered women who liked to engage in... free love. Not that there was nothing wrong with that, of course– all the more power to her. But what about _him?_

An employee in a blue vest suddenly appeared in his peripheral and he froze.

“You finding everything alright, sir?”

Rumford kept his eyes fixed ahead and huffed, breaking a sweat as he realized the assortment of boxes was very unfortunately still in his arms. _“...Fine._ Thank you.”

 _Stupid David._ Putting ideas like this into his head, as if he needed any more things to worry about tonight. Let's put sex on the table!

“Alright, well let me know if you need help finding anything.”

Rumford closed his eyes and sighed. _His dignity, perhaps?_ “Aye. Will do.” he grit through his teeth, waiting for them to walk away before putting the boxes back on the shelf– carefully, this time. Very, very carefully.

He didn't have to have sex with her if he didn't want to. Why should he bother with condoms if he already knew he didn't want to have sex tonight?

_You could change your mind._

But when? In the heat of the moment? Surely that would be a rash decision. He was of clear mind right now, and right now he knew he didn't want to, so in buying condoms, wouldn't he really just be enabling himself to make a decision he might regret?

_Regardless of your intentions, it never hurts to be prepared._

“Fucking shite.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he swallowed his pride. He let his eyes skim over the rows of colorful packages one last time.

 _Ultra Ribbed. Glow in the dark. Maximum Pleasure. Tropical flavors._ Rumford scowled. _Now why would anyone want–_ nevermind. He shook his head and plucked one of the boxes off the shelf– At random. Yes. Good. He tossed a quick look over his shoulder again before reading the back of the package.

_Unique texture designed to provide extra stimulation for her most sensitive area and heighten her pleasure._

He drummed his fingertips along the side of the box for a moment. He supposed there was nothing wrong with that, right? As good as anything else, wasn't it? Yes, yes. These would do. You know– _In the event_ that he needed them.

He started back up the aisle, overly conscious of the box in his hands. He definitely should have grabbed a basket on his way in. Maybe then he could have filled it with other things, like shaving cream? Painkillers? A toothbrush? A bag of candy or a bottle of iced tea?

Before he could bemoan his lack of foresight any further, his phone began buzzing in his pocket. He stopped and hesitated, his hands fumbling uselessly in the air as he weighed the pros and cons of taking a call while he wandered aimlessly around the drugstore with a box of condoms in his hand.

He slid his phone out of his pocket, and a familiar giddiness coursed through him when he recognized the notification for the app Neal had him install so they could have international calls using VoIP. Whatever that meant.

_But Neal!_

He put the box back on the shelf (carefully!), tapped the green circle in the middle of the screen, and pressed the device to his ear. “Neal?”

“Hey, Pop!”

He let out a deep breath. “H-Hey.”

There was a beat of silence. “...You okay, there? You sound kind of out of breath.”

“No.” He lied. “No, no, no! I'm fine. I'm fine.”

“Right…” Neal said, not sounding convinced in the slightest. “Anyway, you're in Boston for the show this weekend, right?”

“Yeah. _Yes._ Yes, Boston.” Rumford nodded, slowly meandering into the next aisle.

“Cool. Yeah, I figured you'd be bored in your hotel room by now, so I thought I'd give you a call before bed?”

“Oh. That's– very thoughtful. How ah… how's Liverpool? How's your mum doing?”

“Good. She's good.”

“Do anything fun this week?”

“Eh. Usual stuff.”

“Oh. Oh, that's good.” he said. _Teenagers,_ he thought.

“Kind of ready to come back home though, honestly.”

Rumford smiled at that. “I miss you too, son.”

There was a beat, and he heard his son smack his lips. That only meant one thing.

_“Dad.”_

“...Yes?”

“What's wrong?”

“Oh, don't be ridiculous!” Rumford chuckled. “Nothing's wrong. I'm wonderful. Perfect, even.”

 _“Perfect?”_ Neal scoffed. “Pop. You're out of breath. Which means you're nervous and you’re pacing. Which means something's wrong. So what's up?”

Rumford rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless. His son could read him like an open book, and as inconvenient as it might be at times, he was glad of it. “Well…” He took a bottle of lavender shampoo off of the shelf with his free hand.  Flipped the cap open and sniffed. _Nice._ “If you must know, your father has a ah… wee bit of a date tonight.”

“You have a–” Neal laughed. “No fucking way!”

 _“Watch your mouth.”_ Rumford snipped, putting the shampoo back.

“Sorry, sorry.” Neal let out an exasperated sigh. _“...Egads? Jeepers?”_

“Much better.”

“Really, it's not.” Neal groaned. “And okay, no offense, but where did _you_ meet somebody? You finally sign up for one of those online dating sites?”

 _“No.”_ Rumford scowled. He'd been refusing to embarrass himself with something as desperate as that for years now, despite his son's assurance that it was totally normal these days and nothing to be ashamed of. _Practically everybody does it!_ “We met today. A-at the show. She was a guest. We got talking, and she... Well, she invited me out afterward.”

“Nice!” Neal said. “What's she like?”

“Oh.” Rumford pressed his lips together. He really wasn't prepared to have this conversation, let alone with his son. How should he answer that question? He hardly knew Miss French himself– He just knew that he _wanted_ to know Miss French. He took another bottle off the shelf and sniffed. Tea tree and mint. _Very nice._ “Ah, well, she's… nice. And smart. And beautiful. And…”

“Okay, okay–” Neal chuckled. “Got it.”

“She's a librarian.” he added, because he felt some inexplicable need to.

“Oh. Well, that's… cool, I guess.”

Rumford took a few more whiffs of the tea tree shampoo before putting it back. He spun around to the opposite side of the aisle, sweeping his eyes over the endless selection of hair dye. “Anyway,” he exhaled, “how’s the weather over there?”

“Oh, no–” Neal scoffed. “No, we're not done talking about this date. So you like her? You going someplace nice for dinner?”

“I…” He trailed off and found himself inspecting a box of hair dye with large red letters, proudly declaring it was _For Men._ It reminded him of the awful condom boxes in the other aisle, and _was there really much of a difference between men's and women's hair,_ he wondered? “She– she's lovely. But ah, no. It's... some bar downtown.”

“Hm.”

“Should I–” Rumford set the hair dye back on the shelf and looked over his shoulder, lowering his voice. “Should I bring her flowers, do you think?”

Neal snorted. “Yeah, totally. You can get her a matching corsage while you're at it.”

Rumford huffed and rolled his eyes. How did he manage to raise a son this bloody sarcastic? “Neal, I'm serious. I don't– You know I don't know what I'm doing!”

He laughed. “Look Pop, I don't know what you _old_ people do, but none of the guys at school–”

“She isn't _old!”_

“Sorry. _Middle-aged.”_ Neal said, and Rumford could _hear_ him rolling his eyes.

“She's not–” he cut himself off and thought about his next few words, though probably not enough as he should have. “She's got to be closer to _your_ age than she is to _mine!”_

A retching sound erupted from his phone's speaker. “Ugh, _dad!_ Gross!”

“What!?”

“Dad, how young _is_ she?!”

“I-I-I I don't know! Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? I-I wisnae about to _ask!”_ he floundered. “She's a _grad_ student!”

“I thought you said she was a librarian!”

“She is! I mean, she _will_ be! She's... finishing her degree.”

“Yeah, and I _start_ mine this year.”

“Undergrad.” Rumford said. “Doesn't count.”

“Whatever. I don't know." Neal said. "I guess I was just picturing like, a _librarian,_ you know? With like, the bifocals on the chain and like, clogs. And–”

“Look, son.” he sighed. “I-I’m terrified enough as it is. This woman… Well, she's absolutely brilliant, and the last thing I need right now is to be reminded how bloody _old_ I am.”

The line fell silent for a moment. “...You're not _old_ .” Neal finally said. “You're _middle-aged.”_ He chuckled a bit on those last few words, and Rumford had to smile. “And for what it's worth? I think any girl would be _lucky_ to go on a date with you, Pop.”

“You–” Rumford wet his lips and turned away, trying to hide the pathetic smile that was blooming across his face. “You think so?”

“Yeah. And I'm like, you know– Excited for you and crap.”

“Oh. Well, thank you, Neal. That… that means a lot.”

“Yeah, well, it's been about time, honestly.” he said. “After all, you’re gonna need someone else you can drag with you to estate sales once I leave for Rhode Island.”

Rumford rolled his eyes, feeling a sudden sourness in his stomach. “C’mon, now– A five hour drive isnae so bad! Y-you could come back the weekends!”

“Nope! Not having this conversation right now.” he said.

Rumford huffed.

“Anyway, it’s late for me.” Neal said. “...And you have a date.” He teased.

He hiked his brows and sighed. “Aye. I do.”

“G’night, Pop.”

“Goodnight, son. I love you.”

“I love you too. And good luck with the girl. Who knows? Maybe you'll have a girlfriend by the time I get back.”

Rumford blanched and cleared his throat. “Yes, thank you, goodnight Neal.”

There was a few seconds of his son's laughter before he hung up.

 

*****

 

Belle looked over her shoulder at her reflection in the mirror, scrutinizing her bum. In a half hour, they'd be leaving for Aesop's Tables, where she would wait another hour and a half for Rumford to show up. Because they were going early. At 6:30. Just in case.

“Do you think this outfit is okay for tonight? Should I change?”

“Into _what?”_ Ruby scoffed. “You only packed one other outfit, Belle.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She shook her head. “Right.”

“Besides. Judging by the way he was ogling your legs, I’d say he likes your outfit _just_ fine.”

“Oh. ...You um, you think so?” Belle nibbled her lip and looked back into the mirror, happier with what she saw this time.

 _“Oh yeah._ ” Ruby assured. “Now _shh._ I got a phone call to make.” She winked, flashing Belle the business card she'd gotten from Dorothy.

“Oh!” Belle smiled and bounced on her toes. “Yeah! Yeah, good luck!”

Ruby plopped onto the bed and pulled out her phone. Her eyes drifted back and forth between the phone and the business card a few times before she finally started typing it in. She seemed to hesitate a moment, then finally tapped the call button, taking a deep breath as it started to ring.

Belle could feel her pulse pounding in her chest. It was thunderously loud, terribly so, for the brief moment after it stopped ringing, but before there was an answer.

“Hey!” Ruby cheered, and Belle eased at her playful, sing-songy tone. “Dorothy Gale! ...You told me to give you a call when I came up with something better than my Oma’s wedding ring.” She laughed. “...Yup! That's me!”

Ruby began settling more comfortably on the bed, an excited grin on her face. “Well of course I am! I'm a woman of my word!”

Belle returned to the mirror, but couldn't help watching Ruby's reflection instead, watching as she clutched one of the pillows against her chest.

“...Well, how would you like to appraise _me_ over a few drinks instead, huh?” she murmured, doing everything not to laugh at her own lame joke. _“...Perhaps._ But I'm told my true worth isn't really apparent until you uh, _take a closer look.”_

Belle stifled a giggle and stepped closer to the mirror. She leaned in to check her makeup, using it to distract herself from eavesdropping too much. Should she reapply the same lipstick she had on earlier? Or switch to the darker, more evening appropriate color she had in her bag?

She shook her head. The darker one. Definitely the darker one. It would do a better job of drawing attention to her lips. For kissing. Which is what she wanted. She stuck a hand into her makeup bag and plucked the sleek little tube out. She pulled the cap off and angled it over her lips. And then she hesitated.

Was it too dark? Too vampy? Maybe he didn't like lipstick on a woman, or wouldn't want to get lipstick on himself. The image of her lipstick on his throat suddenly came unbidden, and a tingle rose in her belly as her mind immediately began filling in the blank of how it got there. _God,_ his cologne smelled amazing. Or was it aftershave? She clenched her eyes shut. _No, no. Stop that. Focus._

 _Idiot, Belle._ He probably had matching designer cologne _and_ aftershave.

“...Oh, I was thinking tonight at eight." Ruby said. "Little place called Aesop's Tables? …Yup, that's the one! Think you can make it? ...Well, it's actually kinda shaping up to be a double date,” she said, glancing at Belle and winking.

Belle returned to her own reflection and sighed. Ruby was always so confident. No wonder she never had any problem getting dates. Flirting and talking to people seemed to come so naturally to her. Herself, on the other hand?

She knew she was an attractive person, but still. People didn't flock to her. She was aloof, mousy, awkward. And very opinionated. She also knew she ought to be herself, but surely she could be an enhanced version of herself? A Belle who smiled and laughed freely (but cutely) at jokes, who maintained eye contact, searching deep beyond the surface and unraveling the mystery below. A Belle who carried an allure that made everyone want to stare, who used her body language to bring men to their knees.

She was going on a date with _Dr Rumford Gold,_ after all. Being a wallflower was unacceptable. If there was any time for her to be bold, it was now. Tonight, she would channel her inner Ruby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me and this story :*  
> Next chapter is mostly already written though so y'all won't have to wait 234252 years for it!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Aesop's Tables, Gold is introduced to a very different side of Belle. Meanwhile, Ruby has second thoughts about her date with Dorothy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split this date into two chapters because whoops it got long?? TMI's for the previous chapter here - ([x](http://ifishouldvanish.tumblr.com/tagged/tmi:%20bh6))

_Aesop's Tables,_ the signage on the blacked out window read. Rumford checked his watch. 7:49. It was a good time to go in. Punctual, but without overdoing it. Miss French would be waiting inside and they'd... talk.

He straightened the lapels on his jacket and stepped up to the door.

“Your ID, sir?”

Rumford froze and blinked up at the tall, burly man who'd been waiting outside the door. Despite his massive stature, he was very young, and hardly intimidating. “Excuse me?”

“I have to check your ID. We're 21 plus.”

Rumford scoffed. Surely, this man was joking. Asking to see the old bastard's ID– _ha, bloody fucking ha, very funny._

He ignored him and stepped forward, but the man blocked his way. _Tiny,_ his name tag said. Well, wasn't that fucking dandy? What a bloody brilliant sense of fucking humor he must have.

“Gonna need to see that ID, sir.”

He knit his brows together. “You're serious?”

“I don't make the rules, sir. I just enforce them.” Tiny said, holding his hand out. “No one gets in without an ID check.”

Rolling his eyes, Rumford huffed and reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet. _“Ridiculous.”_ he muttered under his breath.

He opened his bifold, mindful of the little foil square he had tucked into one of the slots, and slid his driver's license out. He slapped it into Tiny’s hand, folded his arms over his chest with a petulant huff, and glared at the door impatiently.

The man gave a curious little hum, his eyes darting back and forth between Rumford and his likeness on the card.

Rumford grit his teeth. “...Is there a _problem?”_

“Can you tell me your address, sir?”

He rolled his eyes again and sighed. “2880 Lapwing Road. Jamesville, New York. 13078.”

 _“...Perfect.”_ he said and hiked his brows, and Rumford couldn't tell if he was impressed or surprised as he handed him his license back. “Thank you.”

“Aye.” Rumford snipped and tucked it back into his wallet.

“Sorry for the hold up. Unusual name, is all.” Tiny shrugged. “Red flag for a phony ID.”

_As if he needed one of those._

_“Yes_. Well, my father _did_ have a shite sense of humor.” he muttered, dropping his wallet into his jacket pocket and straightening his lapels again. “So? Now that we've verified that I _am_ in fact old enough to order a _drink?”_ He asked, nodding toward the door.

“Right. Of course.” Tiny shook his head and stepped aside. “Enjoy your evening, Barbara.”

Rumford clenched his jaw and yanked the door open. _Should have switched to his middle name when he applied for bloody citizenship._

But– that was a concern for another time. Tonight was about enjoying the company of Belle French. _Oh, yes._ The now familiar flutter rose in his chest at the mere thought of her.

He stepped through the threshold and immediately began searching for her. But soon the pleasant flutter twisted into an anxious knot. The place was young and trendy and it took him all of about three seconds to decide he had no business being in it. It was crowded and noisy and there was a dance floor and where was Belle?

 _Should he have brought flowers after all?_ He should have, shouldn't he? What kind of a tosser showed up to a date without flowers? His aunties were probably rolling over in their graves right now. They’d raised him better than this.

“Dr Gold!” a voice hollered across the bar. “Over here!”

He followed it to one of the booths in the back, finding the tall girl– Ruby, flagging him down. He squeezed his way through the crowd of people, his eyes still warily hunting for his bubbly librarian.

“You made it!” Ruby said with a wide smile that eased him a little. “Belle had to use the ladies’ room. She'll be out in a sec. ...I think. Line looked pretty long.” she chuckled, almost having to shout over the din of voices to be heard. “Anyway, we figured we'd get here early so we could grab a table, so I should probably warn you: _she's already had a couple.”_ she said, nodding toward the half-empty cocktail glass opposite her.

Rumford blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah. She'll be alright, though. Come, sit down.” Ruby said, gesturing at the seat across from her.

“Thank you.” he coughed and settled in, trying not to make eye contact with her in hopes that she wouldn't try to talk to him too much. Grabbed the drink menu off the table caddy. Pretended to read it.

“You look pretty tense.” she said right away.

_Was it that obvious?_

“Oh. Well I ah, I'm not much for um…” he whirled a finger about the busy establishment, _“this.”_

“Gotcha.” she said. “Yeah, this place was recommended on TripAdvisor, so we thought we'd check it out.” she shrugged and took a sip of her drink. “There's supposed to be a band coming on later.”

“I see.”

A waiter quickly approached the table, and Rumford ordered a scotch. He started fidgeting, bouncing his leg and drumming his fingers on the table as he took in the decor. Rustic, but with nods to mid-century modernism. Eclectic.

“You know…” Ruby smiled, “you have nothing to worry about.” she said. “Belle really, really likes you. And she's seriously the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

He stopped staring at the light fixture a few tables down and managed a smile as he rubbed his sweaty palms over his thighs. Nodded. “Aye. She ah, seems very nice.”

Ruby leaned over the table and craned her neck, peering past him and at the bathrooms in the back. Her eyes seemed to latch onto something, and the corner of her mouth curled into a smile. “...She also thinks you're totally dreamy and wants to touch your hair.” she grinned, quickly sitting back and sipping her cocktail with feigned nonchalance.

Rumford furrowed his brows. _Wait, what?_

He looked over his shoulder and found Belle emerging from the bathrooms and heading toward the table, her chestnut curls swaying with each careful step. His mouth dropped open and he looked back to Ruby, who then winked at him.

_Why was everything happening so fast?_

“There she is!” Ruby sang, waving her down. “Look who's here, Belles!”

Rumford heard her heels clicking on the floor as she approached the table, and he tried to gauge the best time to look up. Too soon: awkward. Too late: rude _and_ awkward. Eventually her petite figure appeared in his peripheral, and he looked up slowly. Not too slowly, though. Timing. Timing was everything.

“Mr Gold! You came!” she beamed as their eyes met, and he quickly noticed that her cheeks were looking much rosier than they did at the show.

He wasn't sure if he should get up to greet her (Should he hug her? Shake her hand? Kiss her cheek?), or if he should scoot out of the booth to give her the inside seat, or what– but before he could make a judgement call, she plopped right in beside him.

“I'm _so_ glad you could make it.” she said, scooting up to him.

“Well. I said I'd be here. So ye know...” he coughed.

She stared at him for a moment, her blue eyes darting across his face, and nibbled her lip. And he waited– waited for some sort of cue, but she just kept _looking_ at him. _Was he supposed to say something?_ Was he completely blowing it? He _was,_ wasn't he?

The waiter returned with his scotch, and he tried not to reach for it too readily.

“You look _so_ handsome...” she finally said, with an uninhibited gaze confirming that _yes–_ as Ruby had pointed out, Miss French was indeed a little intoxicated.

He raised his brows. “Oh. Thank you. ...You ah, you look very beautiful yourself, Miss French.” he said, and took a swig of his drink, suddenly feeling quite parched. Should have asked for a water as well.

She smiled and slid a glass toward her, craning her neck so she could take a sip from the tiny straw. “You um, smell really good, too.”

A nervous chuckle escaped him and Ruby gave him an apologetic smile. “Well, that's a relief.”

Belle set her glass back down with a heavy thud. “You're funny!” she giggled and touched his shoulder, but the mirthful smile on her face quickly slipped away. “I mean it, though.” she added huskily, leaning in and wetting her lips. “You um, smell really sexy...”

“Alright there, lightweight...” Ruby laughed. “Let's switch to water next time they come around, huh?”

Belle took her eyes off of him and frowned. “But I'm not thirsty.”

“Mm…” Ruby disagreed. “I'm not so sure about that.”

“Okay.” Belle sighed. “I trust your judgement, then.” She looked back at Rumford and lowered her voice to an attempt at a whisper. “Ruby is a good friend.” she told him. “She takes good care of me.”

“Aye. I ah, see that.” he said. Took another swig. “I'm glad you have her.”

“Anyway, I'm really happy you're here.” she said, crossing her legs and adjusting the hem of her dress.

He cursed himself for being so distracted by it, but she was definitely pulling it higher rather than lower. She smoothed a hand over her bare thigh and he had to tear his eyes back up to her face before his trousers needed adjustment. Their eyes met again for a mortifying instant, and she licked her lips. _Good God,_ she was going to kill him.

He glanced way, nearly choking on his spit, and she smiled. “...You're my favorite. _Dr Gold.”_

Why was she saying everything like that? Murmuring his name like it was some kind of secret? Why was it making his mouth so dry? And that word again. Favorite. _Favorite what, exactly?_ He was tempted to ask. Took another sip of his scotch instead. “I'm… very flattered.”

She propped her head upon her palm and started staring at him again like he was the only person in the room. _Absurd,_ seeing as there were clearly _far too many_ people in the room.

“So…” she extended her other hand out toward her glass and started to trace a finger along the rim. He watched her circle around it once, twice, a third time. It was clearly meant to be a seductive gesture, but before she could finish whatever she was about to say, she tipped the glass over.

“Oh–” He reached out to catch it before it could spill, feeling a little relieved for the distraction.

“Whoopsies!” she giggled and grabbed the glass the same time he did, their hands touching. His heart pounded as he slowly let go, and she just lidded her eyes and started nibbling her lip again.

“So…” she started again, as if the whole blunder never happened. “Did you um, get to appraise anything interesting after we left?”

He nodded and cleared his throat. “I did.”

 _Tell her about some of the other appraisals you did,_ David had told him. _Easy._ He could do that.

“I ah, had somebody bring in a tea set from around 1890? With the ah, little guards on the cups. For gentlemen with mustaches?”

Belle’s face lit up with almost childlike curiosity. _“Really?”_ she snorted, and such a precious sound it was.

“Oh, aye.” he smiled. “Those ah, handlebar mustaches were very fashionable at the time, but it was difficult to drink your tea, or coffee, or what have you, without getting it dirty.” he explained, tapping a finger on his upper lip.

“I don't really like mustaches.” Belle told him. “But um,” she bit her lip, “I bet you could pull it off and make it look really sexy...”

Rumford hiked his brows. “Your ah... confidence in my appearance certainly exceeds my own, Miss French.”

“Maybe I could help you with that.” she said, and her eyes darted down to his lap for a brief second.

_Oh._

She shifted on the seat to face him and drew her legs up, tucking them under herself so she sat on her knees. Then she shifted a little more, getting comfortable, and flipped her hair. A small lock of it brushed against her once-chilled glass and clung there awkwardly. “...So um, what else?”

_Good question. Think, think, think..._

“Ah…” He hesitated, but he just couldn't resist reaching out and freeing her little chestnut tendril from the condensation that was holding it captive. Her eyes followed his hand as he pulled her hair away, and she smiled as it fell freely over her chest. _Heavens,_ she was so beautiful. Even in as sorry a state as this.

“...I-I looked at this set of Franz Bischoff china painted plates.” he began. “With roses? Quite beautiful. I actually have some of Bischoff's work in my shop. I'm afraid no description could ever do it justice. He always did such an amazing job at capturing the diaphanous appearance of the petals, you know? Very ah… very lifelike.”

“Oh. I'll have to visit sometime and you can um… show me.” she said, leaning in and lowering her voice. Judging by her tone, he was fairly certain she was interested in seeing far more than a handful of decorative plates.

“Well,” he chuckled, electing to ignore the fact. “I'd be happy to have you anytime, Miss French.”

“Me too.” Belle said, scooting closer and biting her lip. She looked about ready to climb into his lap, and that wasn't something he was even remotely prepared for.

Ruby cleared her throat pointedly. _“Franz Bischoff,”_ she cut in. “Is that a name I would know if I actually paid attention in art class?”

Belle pulled away to look at her, and Rumford relaxed a little.

“Not likely.” he said. “But he's well known within the art and antiques community. China painting was a popular pastime among society women at the time, and he was an Austrian immigrant who was incredibly gifted at it. He eventually opened a school in the states where he taught the art. The amount of detail in his work is stunning, really. Sells very well.”

Ruby pouted her lips and shrugged. “...Huh.”

“You’re really smart.” Belle said, turning to face him again and resting her arm over the back of the booth, not quite on his shoulders. “I like that a lot. ...How you just know so much off the top of your head like that?”

“Oh, I'm afraid there is in fact _very_ much that I do not know.” he chuckled. “Though I appreciate the compliment, Miss French.”

Another sip of scotch, yes.

“You're so modest, too...” she murmured, staring down at his tie and wetting her lips. “I like that in a man.”

 _“Belle–”_ Ruby cut in. “Why don't you um, tell Mr Gold a little more about yourself? I'm sure he must be tired of talking about pottery and porcelain all day. I bet he'd love to know more about you. _...Right?”_ she said, shooting him a pointed glance.

“Aye.” he coughed and nodded. “That would be lovely.”

“Oh!” Belle smiled. “Yeah! Um, I'm Belle and I love books!”

“Aye, you told me.” Rumford smiled and nodded along. “You're studying to be a librarian, you said?”

“Mhmm!” she nodded and quickly finished her drink. “Libraries are… so important, you know? To the um, community. Not– not just because of _books,_ but I mean, we also provide access to things like computers and the internet to people who otherwise… um, wouldn't have access to those things. Cause it's uh, really hard to get along this day and age without them, you know?”

“I agree.” he said. “Libraries are _very_ important. It's crucial work that you do, Miss French.”

“And we do lots of programs too? Over the summer, to keep the kids learning and out of trouble, which is good.”

“Aye. That's wonderful.” he smiled, relieved to see the woman he'd met earlier beginning to shine through again. “What are some of your favorite programs you have at the public library in Storybrooke?” He glanced across the table briefly at Ruby, who was occupied with her phone.

“Oh! Um… well, we have a resumé and job interview workshop? I think that's such an important thing to have, like… a skill to teach, you know?”

“Indeed.”

“And… we also do this semi-annual local authors showcase?”

“Oh? And what's that like?” he asked, leaning in a little.

“Oh, it's a lot of fun! We get in touch with like, I dunno, five to ten local writers, and they can all promote their work. There's food and cocktails and it's just a nice way to spend the evening, you know?”

“Aye, it sounds like it.” he smiled, his heart aflutter from the mental image of enjoying such an evening on her arm– sipping wine, discussing literature. “Now, you said your mother was also a librarian?”

Belle nodded enthusiastically. “She was!”

“Is that why you wanted to become one yourself?”

“My mom taught me her love of books.” she nodded. “She read to me, and taught me how to read, and when I was older, we'd read a book together and have our own little book club?”

“Oh. Well, that sounds lovely.”

“I miss my mom.” Belle sighed, and she slouched into her seat and frowned. She stared at the soggy napkin under her glass and began picking at the corner of it.

Ruby cleared her throat and shot Rumford another pointed glance, shaking her head at him.

“So. What do you ah, love most about working in the library?” He asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from her mother.

Belle didn't seem to hear him at first. But then she suddenly perked up and smiled. “I like to help people!”

_Well now, how adorable was that?_

“I once helped this guy start a business? Something with um… contracting! He's a contractor. And I helped him look up all the codes and get licensed and he's doing really well now? And sometimes– sometimes I get students who are reading Shakespeare or whatever, for school? And you know, they um, struggle with it? But sometimes I help them and you can tell when they just like, start to _get it,_ you know? And I really love that.”

Rumford felt his heart grow two sizes and smiled. This incredible, stunning woman and her unyielding desire to share her knowledge and passion for learning with the world. “That must be… incredibly rewarding, Miss French.”

“Mhmm! It is!” She suddenly looked out toward the front of the bar, where something seemed to catch her attention.

“...Belle?” Ruby asked. “You okay?”

“Look! Ruby!” She pointed at the front door and smiled. “It's Judy Garland!”

“What?” Ruby snapped her gaze to the door, and Rumford followed.

“I mean, Dorothy.” Belle snorted and shook her head.

“Oh. _...Oh._ Good eye, Belle!” Ruby began scooting out of the booth. “I will be _right_ back.” She winked. “Don't get too carried away, you two.”

“Okay!” Belle said. She unfolded her legs from underneath her and sat properly again, turning to Rumford.

She started staring at him again too, and the dryness in his mouth returned. He _definitely_ should have asked for a glass of water.

“...I'm sorry. I know I'm a little drunk.” she mumbled, and the look in her eyes was so sad, so genuinely apologetic.

“Hey–” he reached out for her arm, but stopped himself. “Th-that's alright.”

“I was only gonna have one drink, but these things are just really yummy?” she explained, poking her straw at the ice in her glass.

“Understandable.”

“Also, I was really nervous about meeting you and it helps to have something to do?”

“Y-you were nervous?” he scoffed, blinking his eyes in disbelief. “About… about meeting _me?”_

“Yeah!” she said. “You're um, really smart and handsome and eloquent and seem really um, passionate about your work and I really like you a lot?”

“...Oh.” he eked out, and since when had it been so hot in here? “Why ah… thank you.”

“You're welcome.” she said with a simple shrug, as though he'd just thanked her for holding the door for him, or picking up something that he'd dropped, or some other similarly ordinary gesture.

“I ah, I was nervous too.” he admitted, as if it wasn't completely obvious already.

Apparently it wasn't, because she raised her brows and leaned in with great interest. _“Really?”_

“I... think I also like you very much.” he said, chasing the confession with another swig of his drink. She was grinning ear to ear now, and _had he really done that?_ “And… Well, to be perfectly honest, I haven't um, been out with a woman in a very long time. So, aye. I was very nervous. ...S'pose I still am.” He added with a chuckle.

 _“Aww...”_ She tilted her head and pouted her lips, looking at him like he was a lost puppy. “That's crazy, though!” she blurted. “‘Cause you're like, really cute?”

He scoffed at that. He could feel himself blushing again and had to look away from her and hide behind his hair.

“Oh, God…” she groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?” she said, peeking through her fingers. “I've just had a crush on you for like, ever, and now I'm at a bar with you and I'm a little tipsy and it's all just coming out, I'm sorry.”

This woman had a _crush?_ On _him?_ _For like, ever?_ “It's… quite alright.”

“I didn't um, touch you or say anything inappropriate earlier, did I? I mean I'm not like, I don't think I'm _that_ drunk, but–”

“You’re fine.”

“Whew, okay.” she chuckled. “Not just because that would have been really embarrassing, but also like… the last thing I wanna do is make you uncomfortable? I just… I wanted you to like me but most people think I'm weird and I just thought maybe if–”

“No, no.” he shook his head. “You’ve been ah, quite charming, in fact.” He assured, reaching for his scotch.

“Okay, good!” she smiled. She sucked on her straw again, the empty glass making a loud slurping sound. “So um, I told you what I like about _you...”_ she said, wiggling her brows. “What do you like about _me,_ Mr Gold?”

Rumford nearly choked on his drink. _Good God._ How was he supposed to answer that without completely embarrassing himself?

_She's clearly interested. Let her know the feeling’s mutual._

He coughed into his fist. _Here goes nothing._ “Well, Miss French… You ah, strike me as very enthusiastic, and kind, and… intellectually curious, and I think those are all very admirable traits.”

 _“Really?”_ She blinked. “That’s… that's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me. ...You're so sweet!”

“Oh, hardly.” he scoffed, and he was spared having to cite any examples as Ruby returned to the table with Miss Gale.

“You guys know Dorothy.” Ruby introduced them. “Dorothy, this is my best friend Belle, and… well, I'm guessing you already know Dr Gold?”

“Eh, probably not as well as I should,” she admitted and reached out to shake their hands. “Nice to meet you, Belle. And nice to meet you– _formally–_ Dr Gold.”

“Aye.” he nodded quickly as if he were some sort of bobblehead figurine. “Miss Gale.”

“Sorry I'm a little late,” she said, siding into the seat beside Ruby. “Underestimated how bad parking would be.”

“That's fine.” Belle said. “We're just really glad you could make it!”

“So…” Ruby drummed her hands on the table for a moment. “Dr Gold here was just telling us about some of the cool stuff he looked at today.”

“Oh.” Dorothy acknowledged, still shrugging off her hoodie.

“Did you get to see anything interesting?” Ruby prompted, trying to drive the conversation.

Dorothy knit her brows together in thought. “Uh… I mean, just a lot of the usual stuff, really. Beatles memorabilia, photos of Marilyn, old comic books, NASA press kits from the moon landing, that sort of thing.”

“Hm.” Ruby said, propping her chin upon her fist.

“Oh– someone _did_ bring in some of the original movie sketches for _Gone with the Wind._ Those were pretty neat.”

Ruby clicked her tongue and sighed. _“Such_ a good movie.”

“Yeah.” Dorothy scoffed. “If you can look past the racism and revisionism and the way it romanticizes marital rape.”

“Oh.” Ruby frowned. “Well… you know what I mean. Just… like… it's a classic, is all.”

“Oh no, it is.” she smiled, waving down a waiter so she could order a beer. “It's just a product of its time.”

“Like Rumford's tea cups!” Belle chimed in, smiling at everyone.

 _“What?”_ Dorothy narrowed her eyes at the two of them.

“He looked at tea cups today, for people with mustaches!”

Dorothy gave Rumford a pointed look. A disapproving one, it seemed, and he could hardly blame her. He probably looked like some kind of lecher, an old creep, preying on a drunk woman who was probably almost half his age. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “I ah, believe what Miss French is trying to say is that… all of the things we look at speak volumes of the societies in which they were created, and it's that context that makes them invaluable pieces of history worth studying, preserving, and appreciating.”

 _“Yes.”_ Belle sighed. _“Exactly.”_ She rested her hand on his arm and looked him in the eyes. “God, it's like… you and I are _connected_.”

“...Oh.” The corner of his mouth tugged up into a little smile at that. She was feeling a _connection?_ To _him?_ “You… you think so?”

“Mhm…” Belle nodded, turning and leaning in closer to him. Her eyes were so impossibly blue and he couldn't tear his attention away if he tried.

Ruby and Dorothy exchanged amused looks. Dorothy opened her mouth to say something, but Ruby cut her off. “Wait, wait, wait a sec– I wanna watch this.”

“Well,” Rumford said softly, “would it not be part of your duty as a librarian to catalog and preserve media in all its forms? So that people might learn from and enjoy them for generations to come?”

“...It is.” Belle whispered. “And without the work _you_ do, people might not ever realize the value of things… think of all the pieces of art and craftsmanship and history that would lost, neglected, dismissed as junk– without people like you to take the time and effort to uncover the stories they have to tell. Stories that would otherwise be left untold.”

“Why, Miss French,” he blushed, “It– Well, it never occurred to me that one might hold my line of work in such high esteem...”

Ruby and Dorothy furrowed their brows and scoot to the edge of her seats. The waiter arrived with Dorothy's beer, and she thanked them silently with a nod and a wave.

Belle bit back a smile. “...I hold _you_ in high esteem.”

 _“Oh.”_ Rumford chuckled and glanced away shyly for a moment. “Well… Then as someone whose business is in determining the value of rare and _precious_ things,” he murmured, turning up his palm and taking the fingers she had resting over his hand into his own. “...let me just say that I value _your_ _esteem_ greatly, Miss French.”

At that, Ruby's brows shot up to her hairline.

Belle giggled and gave his shoulder a playful shove. “Dr _Gold!”_

“Yeah– Dr _Gold!”_ Ruby repeated, compete shock written all over her face.

Belle sighed wistfully, resting her cheek upon her fist. “You are _so_ cute...”

 _Cute._ She just called him _cute._ Again. Twice in one evening. Belle French thought he was _cute._ “...And you're remarkable,” he said.

Ruby turned to Dorothy and lowered her voice. “I love this show.”

She took a swig of her beer and hiked her brows. “No kidding.”

Belle looked back at Ruby with big, pathetic, blue eyes. “Ruby… isn't he cute?” she hedged, as if she were a child showing their parent a stray cat she'd found and hoped to keep as a pet.

“He's adorable, babe.” Ruby said. “Anyway, I'm sorry–” she turned to Dorothy again, “what were you gonna say?”

She smacked her lips and smiled, needing a moment to remember what it was. “...Oh. I was just gonna ask, what you guys brought in to get appraised? That is,” she snickered, “other than a ring you stole from your grandmother's jewelry box.”

“Hey!” Ruby cried, “I didn't _steal_ anything! She held her hand out and showed off the ring. “It was given to me as a gift, thank you very much. And–” she stammered a moment, “what makes you so sure it's my granny's, anyway?”

“You can just tell. It's an old piece.” Dorothy said. “Actually... I'm no jewelry expert, but I'm willing to bet it was your _great_ grandmother's.”

Ruby huffed.

“Oh! Oh!” Belle chimed in excitedly. “What do you think, Rumford?” She asked, wrapping her arms around his and resting her perfect little chin on his shoulder.

 _Rumford._ She was using his first name now. Well, _middle_ technically, he reminded himself bitterly. Regardless, it sounded divine on her lips and the way she was looking up at him made his knees weak.

He cleared his throat and blinked, reaching into his pocket for his glasses. “Well, let's see, shall we?” he said, putting them on and giving Belle a tight-lipped smile. He gently took Ruby's offered hand and stared down at the ring. White gold, with a medium-sized pearl surrounded by a half of a dozen stones– rhinestones, likely. “I'd have to agree with you, Miss Gale.” he said. “I’d date this around the early forties.”

“It’s sort of got that old Hollywood glamour to it, doesn’t it?” She said.

Belle squeezed his arm. “Tell us why? Please? It's my favorite part!”

_Now, how could he refuse?_

“Well, it’s white gold, judging by the yellow tinge it's got. The rhodium finish has worn off considerably.” He looked to Ruby and smiled. “You can take this to a jeweler and have them polish and replate it for you. Costs about fifty, no more than seventy-five dollars? Anyway– white gold went into vogue during the thirties. The ah… look of diamonds and pearls on platinum was very popular, which brings me to the pearl you've got here.”

He brushed his finger over it a few times, feeling for its shape as the women watched. “Pearls have always been a bit of jewelry staple, but they enjoyed somewhat of a revival in the twenties, thanks to Coco Chanel. Judging by the modest size of yours here, I'd say it's real– fake ones tended to be more ostentatious. It _glows,_ rather than shines, and it's got a lovely rounded shape– but doesn't look _too_ perfectly round, which is good. It’s a beautiful example, really.”

“Is it now?” Ruby said, pleased with what she was hearing so far.

Rumford cleared his throat. “Now in the forties, with the times being what they were, _Made in the USA_ was something that was being pushed onto consumers to help with the war effort. As a result, we saw the rise of costume jewelry– more colorful, festive pieces made with significantly cheaper materials. You've got what looks to be a genuine cultured pearl, but these stones around it? They lack the luster of a real diamond. They're just rhinestones, leaded glass. You can tell because they’ve a sort of white, cloudy appearance. Cubic zirconia, which would have more sparkle, wasn't developed until the seventies.”

Belle sighed. “You're so amazing.” She turned to look across the table at Ruby and Dorothy. “Isn't he amazing?”

Rumford looked down at her where she still clung to his arm and smiled dopily, and his heart soared when she turned and smiled back at him. _She thought he was amazing._

“So,” Dorothy said, bringing their blissful little moment to an end. She looked back at Ruby with a smug grin. “You ready to admit I'm right now? It's your great grandma's?”

Ruby huffed and folded her arms over her chest, pursing her lips. “You're both… very good at your jobs.” she said. “But like, okay–” she leaned over the table, “how much could I _get_ for it, do you think?”

"Not much." Dorothy said, taking a swig of her beer.

Rumford blinked and studied the ring again. “Ah… Well, I'd sell something like this in my shop for about one hundred. So _you_ would probably get no more than fifty, were you to pawn it.”

“Eh,” Ruby dropped her wrist and frowned at her ring. “Not worth it.”

“Fifty is pretty generous, if you ask me.” Dorothy said.

 _“Hey!”_ Ruby cried.

Rumford shrugged, “It really depends how many carats, and the price of gold at the time. Unless you’ve something quite special, most shops will only pay scrap value for jewelry, and you’d be quite shocked by the markup retailers put on it. If you’re really interested in selling the piece, you’d most certainly get the best return by selling directly. Ebay, classifieds, that sort of thing.”

 _“Jeez!_ If that's the case, then how do you people get any business!?”

“Well, these days I do more _antiques_ dealing than pawn–”

 _“Desperation.”_ Dorothy shrugged. “People pawn stuff ‘cause it’s more important to get cash as fast as possible than it is to get the full market value.”

Rumford coughed. “Also true.”

"I guess." Ruby mumbled.

Belle cleared her throat and pat his shoulder. “I have to pee again.” She said, starting to scoot out of the booth.

“Oh, careful, Miss French–” Rumford reached out to her, “let me–” he started to get up.

 _“I’ll go with her.”_ Dorothy said, leaping out of her seat and helping her up before he could. “I could use a trip to the restroom myself.” she added pointedly, and he could understand her sudden enthusiasm for what it was.

Miss Gale hardly knew him, but she _did_ know that Belle was still tipsy. _She was being protective of her._

His mouth was still hanging open, but he nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

And then they were off– Belle looking back and smiling at him the whole way. He felt a warmth in his chest, a flame that had him drifting up and away like a hot air balloon. It fizzled out at the sound of a heavy sigh and he followed it to Ruby, who was now hunched over the table, picking at her nails.

Rumford swallowed. “You ah... look tense.” he said with a little chuckle, recalling their exchange when he’d first arrived.

She shook her head. “It’s fine.” she sighed again and put on a polite smile. “You having a good time?”

“I am, actually.” And he truly was. As nervous as he had been all afternoon, he felt comfortable now. He was smiling and making conversation and Belle seemed to be enjoying his company as much as he was hers.

“That’s good.” she said. “And um, for the record, she’s not always like… this.”

“I ah, I figured.” he said, hiking his brows as he recalled how forward she'd been earlier.

She started picking at her soggy napkin, and it occurred to him how things had changed since he arrived. Before he was hoping she wouldn’t talk to him. But now she looked so sad, and he was starting to wish she would say something more. She ought to be enjoying herself, after all.

He would probably regret asking, but he just had to. “Are you… are you sure you’re alright?”

Ruby shook her head again. “Nothing. It’s just– it kind of sucks knowing you’re the dumbest person at the table, is all. My date is clearly bored. With me, anyway. You guys are having a blast talking about teacups and libraries and the history of jewelry and I’m just… I’m a _waitress,_ you know? I don’t even know what revisionism means.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line, not quite sure what to say to that. “I… I don’t think you’re dumb.” was the best he could manage.

She scoffed. “Thanks. I guess.”

“I think… I think you’re a good friend. A great one, in fact.”

She smacked her lips. “No offense, but you don’t even know me.”

“I think I do.” he found himself saying. “Well enough, at least.”

She stopped picking her nails and narrowed her eyes at him. Yes, he was definitely regretting asking that question now.

 _I think I know you well enough?_ What kind of presumptuous arse says a thing like that to a woman he just met? He cleared his throat. He should backpedal. _You're right, I apologise, it’s not my place, please, return to your nail picking._ But instead he said, “Did you not bring the four of us together here tonight?”

She tilted her head at that. _Interest._ But then she slouched again. “I’m just here for Belle.” she shrugged.

 _Ah._ Perhaps he wasn't being so presumptuous after all. “That may be so. But something tells me she would not be here, if not for you.”

“Nah. She’s been planning this day since the moment the tour schedule came out.”

“When I first got here,” he said. “You sensed how nervous I was. You told me not to worry.”

“I was just being nice.”

“You did the same thing for Belle. Earlier. When it was time for her appraisal. She looked to you for support and… she found it. And again, before she invited me out.” He paused, and scoffed. “She was ah… _behaving rather loosely,_ moments ago,” he said, “and you brought her back to shore.”

“Well, yeah. She’s my best friend.”

“When Miss Gale arrived, you introduced her and immediately pulled her into the conversation, made her feel welcome.”

“So?”

“Miss–?”

“Lucas.”

 _“Lucas._ I… I don’t really have anyone I might call a best friend. I have colleagues, of course. Some of whom I’m friendlier with than others, but– I’ve always preferred to stick to my _things._ I still do. But the only time I ever felt like I had anything to offer anybody– as a friend, at least– was nine years ago. Mr Nolan– who you may have met today– he found out he was going to be a father, and… well, he came to _me_ of all people. He was nervous, terrified, didn’t think he was ready, and I thought to myself, _‘what the bloody hell have you come to me for?’_ My son’s practically grown and I _still_ don’t know what I’m doing, you know?”

Ruby shrugged. Just as well, he wasn't sure where he was going with this either.

“But I listened to him. And I saw so much of myself in him then, and so I told him– all the things I wished someone had been there to tell _me._ ‘It’s a blessing. You can do it, it’ll all be fine, it’ll change your life, you’ll never look back,’ you know? You’d not believe it to look at him now, but that man was thinking about running. And now? He’s a _father._ A good one.”

She pouted her lips stared at her glass.

“The point is, I think you have a way with people. I could talk about teacups and china plates or whatever else you put in front of me ‘til I’m blue in the face, but it still remains nine years since the last time I ever really, truly, helped somebody who needed it. You, on the other hand, have done that at least five times that I’ve _seen_ and can _recall,_ in the span of a few _hours._ Now, I know how easy it can be in this world, to feel that you’re nothing– I still do, most days– but trust me, Miss Lucas, when I say that you’re not. I can see it, I don't imagine Belle would be such close friends with you if she didn't see it, and I'm sure Miss Gale sees it as well, otherwise she'd have not agreed to come here.”

She looked up from her glass with a wry smile. “I guess.”

Having run out of things to say, he coughed and started busying himself with his glass of scotch. Whatever else he might come up with, it would only serve to fill the silence, anyway. Surely, Belle and Dorothy would be back soon. He tried not to turn his head and check though, out of fear of coming off as rude.

He couldn’t help it though. A shadow wavered from behind and he turned his head, and there they were. Miss Gale looked right at them and then whispered something to Belle, who seemed to be walking much more steadily than last time. Belle then looked at them too, smiled, and whispered something back. The two of them laughed and his heart felt like it might burst.

“...Dr Gold?”

Startled, he snapped back to Ruby and blinked. “Yes?”

“Um, thanks. I think I needed that.”

“Oh.” he chuckled uncomfortably, looking down at his glass and suddenly wishing it wasn't empty so he could buy himself a moment with a sip. Should he say  _you're welcome? No problem?_  Neither one felt right.

Belle and Dorothy slid back into their seats, Belle scooting in more closely and flashing him a smile.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

She nodded. “Mhm!”

“That's good.”

“So," Dorothy exhaled. "What are we talking about?”

Ruby grinned and wet her lips. “Well, speaking of the devil– Dr Gold and I were just discussing the _finer_ things in life.” She said, wiggling her brows.

Rumford closed his eyes pinched the bridge of his nose.

“That–” Dorothy laughed and shook her head, “that's terrible.”

"Is it?"

"Yeah. You should be ashamed." Dorothy teased.

"Good thing I have no shame," Ruby winked. "Besides, I could be so much worse.”

Dorothy gave a half shrug and looked her in the eyes. “I think… I'd _like_ to see that, actually.”

“Hey, careful now–” she said, wagging a finger. “The band comes on in a few minutes, and that terrible _also_ applies to the dance floor, alright?”

“Uh... I am _not_ dancing.” Dorothy said as firmly as she could, shaking her head as she fought back a smile.

“True, _technically.”_ Ruby clicked her tongue. “You’re not dancing _yet,_ but we can fix that...”

Dorothy threw her head back and barked out a hollow laugh at the ceiling. “I can't dance!”

“Neither can I! It'll be perfect!”

“I'm at _least_ gonna need another one of these first.” She said, wagging her empty beer bottle.

“Uh… then order one?” Ruby teased.

Dorothy tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at Ruby, leaning in a little closer. “You're really gonna make me dance?”

 _“No,_ of course not.” Ruby sighed, slouching her shoulders in defeat. A sly grin slowly spread across her face, though. “...I'm gonna make you _wanna_ dance.”

Dorothy scoffed and looked across the bar to flag down their waiter. “I don't believe this.”

Ruby drummed her hands in the table and squealed. “Yes!”

Rumford felt a tug on his sleeve, and turned to find Belle looking up at him with a tight-lipped smile.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” she giggled and darted a pointed glance across the table. “I just love this show.”

He scoffed and watched for a moment as Ruby and Dorothy continued their banter. “No kidding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> date night to be continued...


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Rumford leave the bar and spend some time alone together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahaaaa this took me five billion years to wrap up and edit for no reason :-)))  
> [Catch up on TMI's here](http://ifishouldvanish.tumblr.com/tagged/tmi:%20bh7), if you're into that sort of thing.
> 
> Thanks for your patience, y'all :*

Belle was coming down.

Things were becoming less funny, less interesting, and for the last half hour, she’d been quietly listening to the conversation at the table rather than actively participating. Everything seemed to have gotten louder and it was as if all the energy she had been spending on her nerves all day had finally dried up. Me than once, the thought of resting her head on Rumford's shoulder crossed her mind, but sure wasn't feeling as brave now as she was before.

_Oh, God._

She’d made a complete fool of herself, hadn't she? Her mind slowly replayed bits and pieces of the evening thus far. There was her comment about him… smelling really sexy. The thing about the mustaches. Her knocking over her glass.

 _How embarrassing_ , she thought. There's no way Rumford would want to kiss her now. He probably thought she was a wacko. A wacko whose breath probably also stunk of alcohol.

She frowned at the glass of ice water she'd been nursing. Parched as she was, she was reluctant to drink it all and have to pee again. Rumford had also ordered an appetizer for the table, but it was clear that everyone was waiting for her to eat the lion's share of it.

_God, was she really that bad?_

She snuck a glance at him then, catching his profile as he listened to Dorothy recount another amusing tale about a customer who had visited her shop a few months ago. He huffed a little laugh and smiled when she reached the punchline of the story, and Belle’s heart skipped a beat. His smiles were beautiful. He actually seemed to be enjoying himself, and what if this could actually be a _thing?_

“Alright.” Ruby said, grabbing the bottle of beer Dorothy had just finished and sliding it to the center of the table with the others. “You've had more than enough shitty beer, Miss Gale. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're stalling.”

Dorothy snorted. “That's where you're wrong.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Because I'm _definitely_ stalling.”

Ruby grinned and closed the small bit of distance left between them. “Dance floor. Now.”

Dorothy quickly turned away, giving herself a chance to wipe the smile off of her face. “You’re serious?”

“You bet your ass I am.” Ruby said, starting to push her out of the booth so she could get out herself. “I'm getting up there and shakin’ my groove thang whether you like it or not.”

“And I support you.” she laughed.

Ruby swat some imaginary detritus off of her bottom and turned to face her. _“It would be way more fun if you joined me...”_ she sang, holding out her hand.

Dorothy looked out at the dance floor and sighed. “Alright.” She said, taking her hand. “You got your dance partner.”

“Yes!” Ruby squealed and bounced on her toes. “What about you? You coming Belles?” She paused and wiggled her brows at Rumford. _“...Dr Gold?”_

Rumford choked out a weak laugh. For a moment, he just blinked and stared down at the table, rubbing a hand over his mouth. Then he swallowed and cleared his throat. “I ah… I don't think this one's quite up to it.” he said, flashing a polite smile and patting Belle's hand.

Belle shook her head in agreement. She _wanted_ to dance with Rumford, certainly. But the music was all wrong. Covers of nineties party hits? No, no. Their first dance would be slow and romantic and nothing short of magical.

Ruby gave an exaggerated sigh. “Alright, alright– _be squares.”_ She teased.

Dorothy gave Belle and Rumford a look of longing as Ruby lured her out to the dance floor, and they returned apologetic smiles. She stood uncomfortably, off to the side with her arms wrapped around herself, while Ruby did what Belle was pretty sure was a mashed potato. Ruby's smiles were always contagious though, and soon Dorothy was struggling to hold back one of her own. Ruby offered her hands, and Dorothy hesitantly accepted, letting her twirl about her as the band played on.

Belle watched them with a smile, snorting out a laugh when Ruby moved on to doing the Swim, which Dorothy mirrored half-heartedly. She then turned to Rumford, and he flinched as their eyes met.

“Oh. M-miss French–” he stammered, his cheeks flushing pink while he looked away.

“It's okay, I don't mind–” she cut herself off and clapped a hand over her face. _I don't mind you staring at me._ True as it may be, it probably wasn't the best thing to say. She slowly peeled her hand off of her face, and there he was again with his warm eyes fixed on her. He had a slight smile on his face, and she couldn't not smile back.

 _God,_ he was so handsome.

They were totally having a moment, Belle thought. Staring at each other and smiling? Like something straight out of a movie, for sure. Except if this was a movie, he'd totally be professing his love and pulling her in for a kiss right now. Which he wasn't.

But that was okay, because he was really, really handsome.

Yes. Looking was just fine. With his sharp, pointed nose, warm sable eyes, and cheekbones that had to have been sculpted by the gods themselves. And his _hair._ It looked so soft and silky, and the way the length of it brushed his shoulders had Belle's fingers practically twitching with the urge to comb through it. Maybe. One day…

_He'd show up at the library. She'd be busy shelving or– no no. She'd be in her own office that she'd totally have, and he'd knock on the door frame, asking to come in. Into her office. Oh yes, she could see the engraved plaque on the door now– Belle French, Library Director. Or perhaps even… Belle Gold._

_...French-Gold?_

_Or maybe she'd keep her name and he'd become Rumford French._

_Or Gold-French._

_No, no. French-Gold sounded much better._

_Anyway._

_“Oh, Rumford! Come in,” she'd say, surprised to see him, but not like, too surprised. Because he'd totally stop by to see her all the time. Playing coy would just be part of the little game they'd play. “Close the door behind you, please,” she'd tell him, because they'd want privacy for what they were about to do. “What brings you into my office?” she'd ask– but she'd already know._

_He'd answer with something cute, like having an overdue book, and she'd come back with an offer to pardon his fees in exchange for a kiss. She'd get up and drape her arms over his shoulders, entwine her fingers through that silken hair– lightly scraping his scalp the way (she imagined) he liked– close her eyes, lean in, and–_

“Miss French?”

Belle jolted and blinked, shaking herself out of her trance. “I'm sorry, what?”

Rumford's lips moved, but she couldn't make out what he was saying over the music. She squinted her eyes, as if that might help her hear better. _“...What?”_

He leaned in a little and spoke up. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Oh!” she nodded. “Yeah!”

“I was–” he scoffed and leaned in further, raising his voice some more, “I was a wee bit concerned earlier.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She closed her eyes and shook her head again. “No, I'm good now. I think.”

“That's good.” He said with a tight-lipped smile.

“...Yeah.” Belle nibbled her lip and continued to gaze into his brown eyes in silence.

_Belle Gold. Definitely Belle Gold, Library Director. Married to Rumford Gold, and oh! what a husband he'd (probably) be. Her coworkers would vent to her about their spouses’ subpar hygiene, their casual disinterest in the runnings of the library, their poor taste in matters of aesthetics, their lackluster performance in the bedroom. But never she about her Rumford. No, no. He'd (probably) be like a trophy husband. Always immaculate, witty, and charming. Always supporting her in everything she did. He'd (probably) have flowers delivered to her office ‘just because.’ Stop by with some sort of heirloom necklace from his shop to give her, and when she asked him what the occasion was, he'd (probably) just string it around her neck, kiss her shoulder, and say something like, “the occasion is us, sweetheart.”_

She could already feel her loins stirring at the thought.

_Definitely, definitely Belle Gold._

They stared dopily at each other for a few more seconds before both cracking and letting out a little chuckle.

Did that count as a moment too? Was it the electricity of all the unbridled sexual tension in the air between them, or were they just being awkward?

 _Awkward, probably,_ Belle decided, quickly turning away to watch Ruby and Dorothy on the dance floor again. Now they were doing the Twist. Dorothy was laughing and shaking her head at how ridiculous she still felt, but she seemed to be coming out of her shell nonetheless.

Rumford cleared his throat. “H-have you–”

Belle whipped her head back around, almost pulling a muscle in her neck. _“Yes?”_

He shyly glanced down at the table. “Well, I just wanted to ask you if– if you'd read any good... books? Recently?” he said, looking back up at her with a slight, lopsided smile.

_How could one man be so cute?_

Belle took a deep breath and did her best not to smile to broadly. She didn't want to look completely mad. “As a matter of fact… I _have...”_ she answered as calmly as she could.

His grin widened and he shifted a little to face her better. “Well, Miss French– I would ah, love to hear about them.”

_And she'd love to talk about them._

There was the one about the woman who gets wrongfully accused of murder, the one about the thief who gets stolen from, the narrative nonfiction about how Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel, the one covering the presence of trans people in various parts of the world, and then her favorite romance novel that she'd read for the twenty-third time about a prince in disguise.

He nodded along, making comments and asking questions at the appropriate times. Several times he had to repeat himself so she could hear him over the band playing. Belle went on and on until her throat was sore from raising her voice, and it finally occurred to her that at this point, she'd be enjoying their date a lot more if they were someplace quiet. Someplace more romantic. For kissing. Or just talking.

 _What would Ruby do?_ Belle wondered. Of course, _drinking_ and channeling her inner Ruby proved to be ill-advised, but she was basically sober now. Surely it would be worth another try? It was time for an exit maneuver, and if anyone knew how to wrap things up in favor of going someplace more private, it was Ruby. Right?

She cleared her throat and whipped her hair out of her face in a manner she hoped looked flirtatious. Sexy. Enticing. “You um…”  she began to hesitate then, already feeling her heart dropping into her stomach. _No, no. Confidence. Commit._ “You wanna get outta here?”

That was a thing people said, right?

She was pretty sure someone said it in a movie once, at least.

Rumford furrowed his brows and leaned in closely. “What was that?”

 _Oh God._ Now she was going to have to say it again?

She hesitated and tried to think of a less embarrassing way to phrase it, but drew a blank.

 _“Do you wanna get out of here?”_ she repeated as loudly as she could without yelling.

He pulled back to look at her, brows raised, and gave a little nod. His lips moved, but she couldn't hear him.

She leaned in and tried not to indulge herself in the heady scent of his cologne too much. Failed. Musky, but citrusy. Sandalwood? Would it be creepy to ask him what it was? Maybe Sephora carried it and she could request a sample.

She clenched her eyes shut. _Focus, Belle._ “Um. _...What?”_

He chuckled and leaned into her ear. “I'd like that.”

She practically squirmed at the sensation of his breath landing on her neck. _Good grief_. What else might he like? If she asked him to repeat himself again, would he get even closer?

She shook the thought away and let out an awkward chuckle. “...Me too.”

His eyes drifted over to the dance floor, then back to the table. “Ah… When do you think you might like to–”

“We can go now.” she blurted. She wanted to leave, he wanted to leave. They should leave.

Rumford blinked. “...Oh.” He shifted in his seat and pulled out his wallet, grabbing a wad of bills and tucking them under one of the empty glasses. “Well then ah… whenever you're ready.”

Leaving the bar with Dr Rumford Gold?

She was _born_ ready.

Belle looked for Ruby as they made their way toward the exit, and her friend's face lit up when their eyes met. She mouthed what Belle assumed was a, _“you go girl!”_ and winked, making a shooing gesture at the two of them.

Belle rolled her eyes and laughed as she and Rumford slipped out the door. A wave of relief washed over her as they stepped out onto the much quieter street, and judging by the way Rumford's shoulders relaxed, he must have felt the same way.

Street lights and storefronts illuminated the sidewalks, which had their share of slow but steady foot traffic consisting of couples and other small groups. A few cars whirred by, drowning out the soft music coming from a street performer further down the block. It was warm, but with a cool and gentle breeze– which was perfect, Belle thought. Maybe, if she was lucky enough, she’d get cold and Rumford would offer her his jacket. Though she supposed it was comfortable enough that she could _pretend_ to be cold, and in the event that he _did_ offer her his jacket, she could still wear it without completely sweating to death for the remainder of the evening.

Ideal conditions, really.

He was studying the menu in the window of a neighboring restaurant, his hands deep in his pockets. She stepped beside him, bumping into him when another person brushed past her to get inside. The movement grabbed Rumford’s attention, and he braced her arm to keep her steady.

“Sorry,” she said. “It was just um, getting really loud in there?”

He returned an apologetic smile and step aside so they weren’t so close to the door. “Agreed.”

Belle nibbled her lip, trying not to let her eyes wander down his neck and to the Windsor knot nested at the base of his throat. The last thing she needed to think about right now was loosening his tie for him. And undoing a button or two on his shirt. Would his chest be hairy? Or would he be smooth?

If she were a betting woman, her money would be on smooth.

 _“So.”_ she began, trying to steer her thoughts away from what he might look like naked.

“So…” He was smoothing out his tie, but seemed to catch himself and stopped. “Where would you like to…”

“You know… I um, I think there's supposed to be a park around the block from here?” she hedged, shifting on her feet. “Maybe we could um…”

“Aye, definitely. I know it.” he said. “But ah, you should probably let your friend know where we're headed?”

 _“...Yes.”_ Belle smiled and pointed a finger at him, then plunged her hand into her purse to grab her phone. “Yeah, totally. Good idea.”

“I've been known to have those from time to time.” he joked.

She snorted and tapped a quick message to Ruby. “And… Done!” she said, dropping her phone back into her bag and clutching the strap tightly.

Rumford's eyes bored into hers for a stretch that was beginning to border on uncomfortable before suddenly darting to the death grip she had on her purse instead. He took a deep breath and let out a little scoff, then offered her his arm. “M-miss French?”

Belle nibbled her lip and hesitated a moment. This was it. This was her _time._ This was her _moment._ A romantic evening stroll with Rumford Gold.

She slowly locked her trembling arm with his, and then her eyes. “Okay.”

“...Okay.” he said breathlessly, staring down at their joined arms with a lopsided smile.

 _God,_ how she just wanted to reach up on her toes and kiss him senseless already. “Well, then I guess uh, let's go.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” he said with a blush, and the two of them finally fell in step together. They made it halfway down the block before Belle suddenly become aware of the silence between them. Should she say something? Make conversation?

She should probably definitely say something.

“I'm… I'm really sorry.” she mumbled, looking at her feet. “For um, back there. If I made you uncomfortable.”

 _Yes._ Clear the air with an apology. For practically eating him alive earlier. A good, natural place to start.

“Well,” he glanced away and chuckled. “I admit I ah, hadn't been _quite_ prepared for that, but… but it's fine, please don't feel–”

“Just, you know. It would have made _me_ uncomfortable, is all.”

He shrugged and cleared his throat. “Aye, well… apology accepted, I suppose.”

They fell silent again, and with her apology out of the way, Belle was eager to change to subject to something– literally, anything– other than what a touchy drunk she was. “So… How did you um, how did you get into antiques? Is it a family thing? Or…”

“Oh–” he shook his head. “No, no. Well– I mean... i-in a way?”

Belle looked at him with a knowing smile. “Sounds like a long story.”

“Aye.” he chuckled. “I suppose it is.”

“I'd love to hear it, if you wouldn't mind telling it.”

Rumford looked at her hesitantly, his lips pressed tightly together. “The thing is, I ah, never knew my mother.” he began, fixing his eyes on the ground. “And my father was… well, not a good man. Spent all his time at the pub, gambling his wages away, and if not that, he was spending the night in jail. When I was eight years old, he dropped me off at our neighbor's and never came back for me. Haven't seen him since.”

“O–.” Belle coughed and pulled away from him, looking at the ground and letting her hair fall in her face. “I am _so_ sorry, I didn't realize– you don't have to–”

“No, no, no, no!” Rumford rushed to assure her, cupping his hand over hers. “I-it's no bother.”

Belle looked back up at him tentatively, not quite meeting his eyes.

“You see... they were the ones who really raised me,” he said. He brushed her hair out of her face and she parted her lips.

She wet them then, and they stuck together slightly. She should have drank more water.

“Edith and Ainsley.” he continued. “Lovely couple. They were seamstresses by trade, but they did it all, really. Sewing, drawing and painting, pottery, you name it. I suppose you could say they were ah...  hoarders.” he admitted with a chuckle.

Belle finally relaxed when she saw the fond smile blooming across his face. _He loved his artsy crafty adoptive lesbian hoarder moms._ Choosing for the moment to ignore his use of the past tense, she just smiled back at him, waiting for him to continue.

“I always liked staying at their house while my da was out because it was filled with all kinds of art and these unique things they'd collected over the years. I was always so fascinated by them all– curious, ye know? But I always had to remind myself to _sit on my hands_ , because my father…” he trailed off and cleared his throat. “Anyway, one afternoon they saw me eyeing this old spinning wheel of theirs. Huge, magnificent thing, it was. And they told me– what it was, what it did, how old, how it'd come into their possession. Showed me how to use it. I suppose you could say that’s what started it.”

“Your first appearance on the show,” Belle recalled. “You looked at a spinning wheel.”

He scoffed and raised a brow at her. “You remember that? That was right around a _decade_ ago!”

“Mhmm!” Belle laughed. “I watched that episode with my mom when it first aired!”

“Gods,” he hiked his brows and looked off into the distance. “That's embarrassing.”

“No…” she said. “You were wonderful. And the way you spoke about it, I could see how passionate you were.” She hesitated and have him a sidelong look. “I've uh, had a crush on you ever since.”

Rumford swallowed. “Oh.”

“But go on...” she said, nudging his shoulder and letting her hand wander from his elbow to his wrist. “It's a good story.”

He hesitated before smiling and accepting her offered hand, and she gave him a little squeeze. Whether she meant it as an encouraging gesture or if it only served to confirm that he was actually there, she couldn’t say.

“Well... Every day after that, I'd pick something out from one of their shelves and I'd ask them, _‘What's that one? Auntie Edith, can ye tell me about that one there?’_ And so they'd take it down and let me touch– _‘be careful now,’_ ye know?” he chuckled. “...And then they'd tell me everything they knew. It was amazing, really, that they could remember the histories of these things in such vivid detail.”

“I mean, have you _watched yourself_ on the show?” Belle teased.

“Not at all, recently.” he admitted with a shrug.

“Well,” she laced her fingers with his and smiled. “You never fail to amaze _me.”_

He stopped walking and turned to face her with a curious look, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards into a smile that made Belle's insides squirm in the most pleasant way possible.

 _Was this it?_ She wondered. _Was she going to finally kiss Rumford Gold? Right here? Right now?_ She poked her tongue out and swept it along her bottom lip, but his eyes didn't follow. His brown lingered on her blue, but then suddenly caught onto something else.

_“Change?”_

Belle flinched and spun around, startled by the unfamiliar voice.

It belonged to an older man who wore an unkempt beard and a warm jacket despite the weather. “Spare any change, sir? Miss?”

“O-oh.” she blinked and shook her head, reaching into her purse. Surely she had _something._

“I-I’ve no change,” Rumford stammered, “but ah... u-up here,” he said, nodding at a food truck up ahead. “Let me get you something.”

“Oh, that would be very generous, sir,” the man said.

“I-It's no bother.” Rumford said, taking Belle's hand.

They started toward the truck, and the man fell in step with them, mumbling further expressions of gratitude. They quietly stood in line, the three of them all eyeing the menu on the side of the truck.

“You been keeping dry?” Rumford asked. “I only flew in yesterday, but I heard there was a good bit of rain during the week.”

“Yeah. Me and a couple guys have a good spot a few blocks over.”

“That's good.”

“You know, the shelters, they fill up quick.”

“Aye. Aye, I bet.”

“I got some work with a buddy of mine, but it's across town. By the time I get off _there,_ and the time it takes to get to _St Matthew’s...”_ he trailed off.

“How far is it?” Belle asked.

“It’s an hour walk, so you know…”

“There aren't any places closer that that? That’s terrible.”

Rumford stepped forward and cleared his throat. “What would you like?” he asked quietly.

“Uh… a Coke, please.”

“One Coke.” he parroted to the vendor and turned to Belle. “And you? Anything?”

“Hm...” She nibbled her lip and scanned the menu on the side of the truck for a moment. “Oh! A churro would be lovely, thank you.”

“Ah, those are good.” the old man chuckled as the vendor handed Belle her treat.

“Here–” she tore a piece off of the top of her churro and offered it to him.

He threw a hand up. “Oh, no. You enjoy.”

Belle narrowed her eyes at him for a moment. “Well, alright. I won't twist your arm.” She smiled, popping it into her mouth.

“Your Coke.” Rumford chimed in, handing him the chilled red can.

“Thank you so much. God bless you both.” the man said with a little bow before starting down the sidewalk.

“Wait!” Belle busted after him, juggling her churro as she dug through her purse. “It's not much, but…” she shrugged and dropped a assortment of coins into his hand.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Stay safe.” Belle said, bidding the man goodnight and returning to where Rumford was waiting by the truck.

“All set?” He asked.

“Mhmm.” she nodded, locking her arm with his again and starting down the sidewalk. “Thank you for the snack.”

“Of course.”

“You wanna piece?”

“Oh, no thank you.” he said softly.

“Hmm… okay.” she shrugged, sucking the cinnamon sugar off of her fingers before going in for another bite.

The park turned out to be just around the corner, and they were able to find a vacant bench not far from a lamp post without too much searching. Belle settled on one end, and Rumford sat opposite her, leaving more space between them than she cared for. She quickly scoot closer.

“This is nice.” she said, smiling at him. “I'm um, I'm having a nice time. With you.”

“That's good.” he nodded, the corner of his mouth briefly tugging towards into another lopsided grin. He bounced his leg a few times, but quickly stopped. “I'm glad.”

Belle took another bite out of her churro, buying herself a moment as she licked the sugar from her lips. He seemed to be getting tense again, and she wondered what else they could talk about.

“Your uh, your aunties sound like lovely people,” she went with. “I might go so far as to say that they did a wonderful job of raising such a gentleman.” she murmured.

“Oh.” Rumford blushed, looking down at his lap and toying with his cufflinks.

“Did they have any other kids they took in? You know, that are like siblings to you?”

“Oh,” he scoffed, “no, no. It was just me, growing up.”

“So no other family at all?” Belle pouted her lips and stared off across the park. “That must be lonely.”

“Well, I-I I do have a _son.”_ he said, looking back up at her.

“Oh.” she said, nibbling her lip and staring down at her feet. _Of course he had a son._ And he said he hadn't been out with a woman in a long time. What if he’s still in love with his ex and only agreed to come out on this date to be polite and–

“His mother and I… we ah, separated when he was a boy.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No. No, no. I-it's fine. It's… water under the bridge, really.”

Belle let out a sigh of relief she hoped wasn’t as audible to him as it was to her.  “How um… How old is he?”

“Seventeen.” he said, finally easing comfortably against the bench with a slight smile. “His name’s Neal.”

“And he lives with you?”

He nodded. “For most of the year. He takes his summers in Liverpool to be with his mum, but ah… he’ll be going off to college in the fall.”

“Oh really?” She asked. “Where?”

“Rhode Island School of Design.”

“Wow.” she blinked. “You know they've been ranked the _third_ best school for art and design by– by um…” she smacked her lips and tapped a finger in the air as she struggled to recall the publication.

“Aye,” he chuckled. “I'm sure I read that in one of the brochures at some point.”

Belle dropped her hand and slouched her shoulders, taking the opportunity to nestle a little closer to him. “He must be very talented.”

“Aye ah… he is. Always was. Artistic, I mean. Creative. Certainly didn't get it from me, though.” he chuckled.

“You must be really proud of him.”

He grinned widely at that, and Belle felt weightless for an instant. “I am.”

“What kind of art does he do? What’s he majoring in?”

“It’s been photography most recently. But ah, he's majoring in graphic design. Likes… bring it all together, you now?”

“Mhm.” she nodded and bit off another piece of her churro, the parchment paper around it crinkling a bit. “You miss him already, don't you?”

He raised a brow at her, and she realized she still had a mouthful of churro.

“Oh–” she covered her mouth. “Sorry.”

“You're fine. Just–” he chuckled and reached a hand over, brushing a piece of sugar from her cheek with his thumb.

She finished chewing and swallowed hard, staring back at him. Took a deep breath. _He just touched you, Belle. Rumford Gold touched you. On the face. Again._

He dusted the crumb off on his pant leg and sighed. “It's just… I always imagined when he was a boy, that he'd grow up to be like his Papa, you know? That the shop could become… a family business. Father and son. But…” he trailed off and gave a half shrug.

“Well,” Belle shrugged. “Whatever makes him happy, right?”

“Aye.” he smiled. “Precisely.”

“I'm sure he’s gonna miss you too.”

“I'm not quite so sure.” Rumford scoffed. “Boy can hardly _wait_ to get out of the house.”

“Oh, come on!” Belle laughed, giving his shoulder a light shove. “He's just excited! I would have _loved_ to have gone away for college!”

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head at her. “Why didn't you?”

Belle frowned. “My dad.” she sighed. “He um, had a heart attack my senior year of high school. I wanted to stay close to him after that, you know?”

He nodded. “Certainly.”

“He just– it's been hard on him. Since mom–” she cut herself off. _Don't start talking about your dead mom, Belle._

“I... understand.” He slid a hand over hers, and the damned parchment crinkled again.

“So… you guys are going to Richmond next?”

He pulled his hand away and nodded. “Aye.”

Belle shrugged. “I've never been.”

“Well,” he chuckled, “if it's any consolation, I've never really experienced much of it myself. Most of the places we visit just sort of blur together, you know?”

“How does that work, anyway?” she asked. “Do you stay in each city and go straight to the next, or do you go back home in between?”

He scowled and hiked his brows. “Stay at a hotel for weeks–months at a time?” he scoffed. “No thank you, Miss French. I'll be flying back home tomorrow night.”

“Oh.” Belle’s heart sank in her chest at the reminder of the geographical distance between them. She knew he lived in Syracuse, but she just didn't want their time together to end. It was a blissful dream she never wanted to wake from. She took another bite, giving herself a moment to think of what else to say as she chewed.

_Oh. Oh, of course._

She swallowed and smacked her lips. “Do you um… have any plans tomorrow morning? Before you leave?”

He bobbed his head from side to side for a moment. “There's a flea market on the other side of town that I like.” he said. “I always try to visit when I'm in the area.”

“Oh, that's cool.” she mumbled around another mouthful of her food.

He huffed out a little laugh. “I'm sort of... friends with one of the vendors there.”

“Really?” she asked, quickly throwing her hand over her mouth again.

“Oh, yes.” he laughed. “Strange fellow. Always has such beautiful pieces, though– I get a lot of my inventory from him. He ah… drives a hard bargain, but I haven't let him get the better of me yet.” He winked.

Belle swallowed and nibbled on her lip. “Maybe– maybe I could join you? If you um, if you wouldn't mind…”

He gave her a sidelong look. “So you can study my negotiation tactics?” he teased.

“Well, now that you mention it…” she giggled, “I wouldn't mind watching you haggle a price on an antique vase or something. ...I think it could be highly educational.” She added, lifting her chin.

He tilted his head and furrowed his brows. “I… I'd like that.”

Belle smiled so widely her cheeks began to feel sore. She turned away for a moment to collect herself. “Okay then,” she said, looking back at him with another, hopefully much less deranged-looking, smile. “It's a date then?”

“Aye.” he nodded. “I… suppose it is.”

She bit down on her lips to keep her crazed smile from returning. _She'd just made plans! To see him! Rumford! Again! Tomorrow!_

They were staring at each other again, and Belle took a deep breath. Was _this_ it? Was _this_ the part where they kissed?

No, no. She needed a line. To bat her lashes and say something like, _I can't wait._ Lick her lips and murmur a seductive, _should be fun._

The bunched up parchment paper crinkled in her grip again and she froze. She had to finish this stupid thing and throw it out already. It would ruin the kiss if she was preoccupied with holding it, nevermind the obnoxious sounds it could make. No, no. The churro had to go.

She looked down at her lap and eyed what was left of it. Two or three bites. One, if she really committed herself. Or would that be… _unbecoming_ of her? She sighed and tore it into two pieces, popping one of them into her mouth and closing her eyes.

 _God damn,_ it was so good.

She opened her eyes to find Rumford still staring at her and stopped chewing.

“Good?” he asked with a little smirk.

She nodded. “So good,” she said, her voice muffled again.

_Dammit, Belle. Stop talking with food in your mouth._

She continued chewing slowly, as if she could hide the fact that she was chewing at all, and swallowed. “It's good.”

He just smiled back without a word.

_Well there goes your moment, Belle. You've ruined it. No kiss._

“Um…” she wet her lips and glanced down the last piece with reluctance. “Sure you don't wanna bite? Because it's um… it's good.”

He hesitated and let out a scoff. “I suppose I can't argue with such a ringing endorsement as that, now can I?”

How was he so charming? She was a walking disaster and yet here he was, smiling and… being cute. Pretending not to notice how weird she was. What a saint.

“No,” Belle laughed. “You can't.”

She shifted on the bench and by the time she realized what the hell she was doing, Rumford was already opening his mouth so she could feed him.

Oh yes. She was painfully aware of the situation as she popped the last piece into his mouth. The way his lips closed around it, brushing against the tip of her finger as she pulled away.

He closed his eyes and let out a soft hum as he chewed, and Belle really needed to stop looking at his mouth. Or the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

_Lord have mercy._

He looked at her and wet his lips. “You're right. That _is_ good.”

Belle blinked owlishly at him. This wasn't real. Couldn't be. She was dreaming. It probably wasn't even Saturday. This entire day had been a hallucination. It was the only logical explanation.

“Miss French?”

She blinked and raised her brows expectantly.

“It's getting late.” he said. “When do you think you'd like to head back?”

“Oh. Uh… now? Now is good.” He could walk her back to her hotel. That would be her next and last chance for a kiss, wouldn't it? Saying goodnight? “I mean– whatever you wanna do.” She blurted. “I'm up for whatever, you know?”

 _Especially kissing you._ That was on the top of the list of things she was up for.

“Well, I... I wouldn't want to keep you up late.” He said, starting to get up.

Belle barked out an awkward laugh. _Sweet, naive, beautiful man._ She would be more than happy to have him keep her up _all_ _night long._ “...Yeah.” She coughed. “You're right.”

“Here–” he said, gesturing at the finally empty parchment paper in her lap. “Let me get that for you.”

He tossed it in a nearby bin and helped her up. They did a lap around the park, arm in arm, while he told her about some of the things he’s found at the flea market over the years, and his favorite sorts of items to carry in his shop. While they headed back to her hotel, the topic of conversation drifted back to flea markets, and which cities had best (or worst) shops. Belle countered with her list of grievances against the way the library in Storybrooke was being run, and all the things she would make to change if she was in charge. She started walking more slowly as they approached the hotel, but soon it was time to stop completely.

“Well uh, this is where I’m staying.” Belle mumbled.

He stopped walking and frowned. “Oh.”

“Thanks for um, coming out tonight.” she said, shifting on her feet.

“Aye.” he nodded. “Thank you. For ah, inviting me.”

“I had a really good time.”

He was trying not to smile, but the tightly rounded apples of his cheeks gave him away. “Me too.”

She stared at his mouth and wet her lips. This _had_ to be the part where they kissed, right? Any second now, he was gonna put his mouth on her? Would it be gentle and soft? Or might he surprise her with something more ravaging? Would she even be able to handle that? This was Dr Rumford Gold, after all. The cultured and sexy silver fox who occupied many a late night fantasy. Good God– _would she faint?_

“I'll ah… Pick you up?” he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Tomorrow morning? Around ten? For the um, flea market?”

“...Oh!” she chuckled. “Yeah! That sounds perfect. I can't wait to do you.”

His eyes went wide as saucers. “Pardon?”

Oh. _Oh._ “Did I say–?” she laughed. “No, no. I mean I can't wait to do _that_. With you. As in going to the flea market. Not…” she trailed off and cleared her throat. “...Yeah.”

His lips rounded into an _oh_ and he nodded slowly. “I… believe I understand.”

“Yeah. So um… goodnight, I guess?”

“Aye,” he said. “Goodnight, Miss French.”

“Belle.” she corrected him.

He smiled, and under the light from the street lamp above them, she could see that he was blushing. “...Belle.”

“Goodnight, Mr Gold.”

“Oh, please.” he chuckled softly and gently tugged on her hand, beginning to rub his thumb back and forth over her knuckles. “...Call me Rumford.”

Belle chewed her lip in lieu of smiling. “...Rumford.” She watched him wet his lips and she  could feel her insides practically vibrating with anticipation. _Kiss, kiss, kiss! Let me suck your stupid, perfect face!_

He held her hand up and brushed his thumb across her knuckles again. Then she watched, utterly transfixed, as he dipped down and pressed a kiss to her hand. He closed his eyes and let his lips linger there a moment before slowly– she might dare say reluctantly– pulling away. He glanced up at her, the corner of his mouth curled into a lopsided little smile.

“It's been a pleasure,” he said softly. “Belle.”

She gaped at him as he stood upright again, her mouth hanging open.

He just _bowed_ and _kissed her_ on the _hand?_ How _dare_ he? How dare he just _transport_ her into a God damned _Jane Austen_ novel like this?

“Uh…”

He furrowed his brows and tilted his head, taking a half step closer. _“Belle?”_

She shook her head. “Yes?”

“You're alright?”

“Oh. Yeah.” she laughed. “Oh, I'm fantastic. You're fantastic.”

“Oh. Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then.” he said.

“Yes.”

“I… I look forward to it.” he said, rubbing his free hand over the back of his neck. “Very much.”

She nibbled her lip. “Me too.”

“Goodnight, Belle.”

“Goodnight, Mr– _Rumford.”_

It was definitely time to let go of his hand. Belle knew that much. But she seemed to have this irrational fear that once she did, he would turn to dust and disappear from her life forever. That she'd wake up from the dream.

“I'm um, I'm gonna go in now.” she said.

He nodded. “Right.”

“So um…” She slowly released her grip on his hand and clutched the strap of her purse– because she needed to hold onto _something._ “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“I'm gonna–” she pointed a thumb over her shoulder at the the hotel.

“Of course.”

She took a step backwards toward the doors, still not ready to take her eyes off of him. “Bye.” she said with a little wave.

He nodded and waved back.

She took another step back, missing the crack in the sidewalk and stumbling. Rumford leapt forward to catch her, but she managed to find her balance herself.

“Haha… _whoa...”_ she chuckled, hoping to God that she wasn't turning beet red.

“Alright?” he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine.” she said. “Happens all the time.”

_It did not happen all the time._

“Oh.” he said, furrowing his brows. “Well ah, perhaps tomorrow... you might want to um, wear something… flatter?”

“Yes.” she nodded. “Def–definitely. Good idea.”

“Just it's um… A lot of walking. And partially outdoors, with ah... dirt.”

 _“Right?”_ she said in agreement, despite the fact that she'd never been to the place before and has no idea what it was like.

“I just see those are suede, is all.” he said, gesturing at her feet and blushing. “I'd ah, hate for them to get ruined.”

_He noticed her shoes!_

“Yeah, me too.” she snorted. “They cost me like, a whole rent payment, so you know.”

He looked back down at her feet and let out a little chuckle, hiking his brows. “Well. I won't keep you any longer.” he said. “You ought to get some sleep.”

“Yeah. You too.”

“Goodnight, Belle.”

She bit down on her lip in hesitation, then inched closer so she could give him a peck on the cheek. “Goodnight, Rumford.” she said as she pulled away, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with a trembling hand.

He was trying not to smile again. “G-goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” She took another, much more careful, step backwards. “I'm um… I'm gonna go then. For real now.”

“Aye.” he nodded. “Goodnight.”

She backed up against the front door and waved again. “Goodnight.”

 _Good God,_ she realized. _Ruby was right._

She shook her head and quickly slipped through the door, managing to take three steps into the lobby before spinning around and waving at him again.

He waved back and then– _then–_ she allowed herself to disappear down the hall to the elevators.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is Rumford's friend at the flea market? A mystery to be revealed next chapter ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumford resolves to give Belle a proper kiss before their second date is through, but his nerves keep getting in the way. Also he can't stop accidentally flirting? Someone help him and also maybe scrape Belle off of the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… this chapter’s going to consist of a lot of shorter scenes rather than one or two long ones. Oops. TMI's -> [[x](http://ifishouldvanish.tumblr.com/tagged/tmi:%20bh8)]

_ Oh, what a night. _

It all began when Belle's phone started vibrating beside her on the nightstand. She rose out of bed and drifted over to the door of her hotel room to answer it, and there he was.  _ Rumford. _ The light in the hallway shone from behind him and he glowed like an angel. A beautiful, perfect, designer suit-wearing, Glaswegian angel.

“Please accept my apologies, Miss French. I know it's late, but…” he stepped toward her and reached out to take her hands. “I just couldn't stay away.”

“Neither could I,” Belle said. “Come in. There's churros.”

“Of course,” he said, quietly following her into her apartment. “But first– there's something I must tell you.”

_ “Yes,” _ she assured. “Oh Rumford, you can tell me anything.”

He stepped closer and cupped her face with his hands, gazing into her eyes. “The library called, Belle. The budget's been doubled, and you've just been promoted to library director.”

Belle smiled widely, blinking away the tears that were already beginning to form in her eyes. “...I have?”

“Yes, sweetheart.” he nodded and brushed her cheek with the pad of his thumb, and the sound of his voice seemed to linger in her ears as though time had slowed just for the two of them. “Also, all of your student loan debt has been forgiven, and that puppy you picked up and brought to the shelter two months ago was just adopted.”

_ “...Wow.” _ Belle chuckled in delighted surprise and gazed back at him reverently. His eyes were so warm and brown and calm, and looking into them made her feel so at peace. Like for the moment, everything in the world was exactly as it should be. “You’re amazing.”

“No, Belle. _ ”  _ he insisted, staring into her eyes with a thrilling intensity. _ “...You're _ amazing.” He pulled her in for a kiss, and Belle felt as though her consciousness had left her body and entered the cosmos. It was hungry and full of need, yet soft at the same. The way she always imagined it would be.

“Oh, Rumford–” she whispered, kissing him back.

“I'm madly in love with you, Belle.”

“Yes. And I love you, Rumford.” she said between kisses. “I've always loved you.” She tried to hold him tighter, but the harder she squeezed, the more he seemed to slip away.

“Please– Belle–” he whispered into her ear. “Let me show you. Let me make love to you.”

“Yes,” she sighed, “Show me, Rumford.”

He guided her down onto her bed, which was conveniently just behind her despite the fact that they had literally been standing in the living room a second ago.

Not important.

Belle watched as he undressed– jacket, waistcoat, tie. Shirt. Undershirt. Each layer gone until he grasped his belt. He undid the buckle slowly, slipped the length of leather out from his belt loops, and laid it beside her. She wrapped her fingers around it and licked her lips, her eyes fixed on his dexterous hands as he unzipped his trousers. He moved to push them past his hips, and–

__ “It's ladies’ night!  
_ And the feeling’s right!  
_ __ Oh yes, it's ladies’ night–”

Rumford stopped stripping for her and darted his eyes around the room with furrowed brows. “...Is that you?”

Belle shook her head. “It can wait.”

She was right. His chest  _ was  _ smooth.

He moved again to take his trousers off, and–

__ “Oh yes, it's ladies’ night  
__ And the feeling's right!  
_ Oh yes, it's ladies’ night!  
_ __ Oh, what a night!”

Rumford sighed and began to put his clothes back on. “I think you should answer it, dearie.”

“No–” she reached out to him, but he was already too far away. “Rumford,  _ wait!” _

Belle woke with a start, her eyes greeted by the darkness of the hotel room. She snapped her attention to the brightly lit screen on her phone as it flashed Ruby's name and continued blaring the personalized ringtone she'd chosen for her.

__ “Romantic lady...  
__ Single baby...  
_ Sophisticated mama!  
_ __ Come on, you disco lady!”

She let out a long, frustrated groan. 

Rumford professing his love to her? A promotion to library director? More _ churros? _ She should've known. Maybe at the very least, the thing about the puppy was true though. That would be nice.

With a huff, Belle swiped the phone off of the end table and answered it. “Ruby. Hey.”

There was giggling, cheering, and then a series of shuffling noises on the other end of the line. “I hope I'm not  _ interrupting _ anything…” Ruby teased.

Belle looked over at the empty side of the bed and sighed. “No… Just… a um, nothing. It was nothing. What um… what are you…”

“Please tell me the reason you sound  _ totally _ disoriented is because he banged you into a sex coma from which you have yet to fully recover.”

Belle scratched her head. “Mm… No. I'm uh, I'm at the hotel?”

“And your debonair doctor?”

“Uh… I dunno.” she shrugged, rubbing a hand over her face.  _ Why couldn't Ruby have waited until  _ after _ her sex dream to make this call? _

“Wait, what the hell happened!?”

“Nothing.” Belle rolled over in bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. “Just–”

_ “Nothing!? _ Belle, it's 1AM! You're supposed to be– I don't know, sitting on his face or something!”

“...Oh.” she let out a big yawn. “No, he's not that kind of man, Ruby. We're um, taking it slow, I think.”

Ruby scoffed. “Boring.”

_ “Is not.” _ Belle pushed herself up for a moment to fluff her pillow, then laid her head back down with a happy sigh. “I had such a good time. He– He's so sweet, Ruby. I really, really like him.”

“Yeah. I'm aware, babe.”

_ “No,” _ Belle huffed, “I mean like, I really like  _ him. _ Not just… I don't know,” she shrugged, “the  _ idea _ of him.”

“Well, isn't that precious.” Ruby deadpanned. “You guys at least made out though, right?”

Belle hesitated. “Well… I mean, not technically–”

“Ugh, you two are the  _ worst.” _ she laughed.

Belle allowed herself a little smile at the gentle teasing. “W-we made plans, though?”

Ruby stopped giggling at that. “I'm listening...”

“We're um, gonna see each other again tomorrow,” she said, wiggling her toes under the covers at the thought. “We're gonna go to the flea market together…”

“Oh, thank  _ God.”  _ Ruby exhaled.

“And he um… He _kissed my hand!_ Ruby, it was the sweetest thing!” Belle blurted as quickly as she could, not wanting her to have a chance to cut in and mock the chasteness of the gesture.

Instead, a squeal erupted from her phone's speaker. “Oh my God! He  _ did!? Seriously!?” _

Belle nodded a moment before remembering this was a phone call. “Oh– He did! And then I um– I kissed his  _ cheek? _ And um…” she took a deep breath to calm herself. “It was magical and I almost died.”

“Well, I'm glad, Belles.” Ruby said, the time in her voice suddenly much softer. “I mean, I know I like to poke fun at you about him, but… now that I've  _ met _ him, maybe I'm willing to admit that he's…”

“The sexiest man alive?”

_ “No,” _ she groaned. “I just mean I think he's a good man. Like, a keeper. And I'm happy you two nerds had a good time and are gonna see each other again. So you can… you know, do more nerdy stuff together.”

_ “Really?” _

Ruby  _ approved. _ Ruby never approved. Or if she did, she never came out and said it. At least not for anyone in Belle's impressive dating history that consisted of a whopping two other people. 

Belle shook her head and cleared her throat. “But uh, what about you? Are you still out with Dorothy?”

“Yeah! Yeah, we've just been dancing the night away over here!” she said. “I'm gonna drive her car back to her hotel in a bit because she's kinda tipsy… then I'll either crash there or grab an Uber back to you? We'll see how tired I am.”

“Oh. Okay.” Belle said. “But you guys… had a good time?”

“Yeah. I think so. I mean, maybe not  _ magical _ and  _ almost-died _ good,” she teased, “But yeah.”

“That's good. I'm glad you–’

“Actually, I  _ did _ almost fall on my ass while I was doing my running man.”

Belle snorted and threw a hand over her face.

“I'll let you go now, though. Just checking you got back okay– and congratulations on getting kissed on the hand.” she chuckled.  _ “May you never wash it again.” _

“Oh, I don't know,” Belle stammered. “I think that would be unsanitary–”

“That was just a joke, Belles. Please wash your hands. If not tonight, just make sure you do it before it's your turn to make dinner Tuesday–”

_“Oh, stop it!”_ Belle squawked. “I washed my hands when I went to the bathroom! Besides…” she sighed. “I bet tomorrow, there'll be _real_ kiss.”

“Just promise me you won't stop brushing your teeth. Because that morning breath is already–”

_ “Goodnight, Ruby.” _ Belle huffed.

“Goodnight.” she snickered. “Love you, Belles.”

“I love you too.”

  
  
  


*****

  
  


It was about six in the morning when Rumford's phone buzzed on the nightstand. He’d already been up since four, replaying the events of the night before in his head. Remembering the way Belle smiled at him, how cute she was when she laughed, when she nibbled her lip, when she chewed her food. How completely wonderful she was in virtually every other regard.

_ She'd kissed his cheek. _

He touched the spot on his face as if to relive it– not just the sensation on his skin, but the sensation in his heart. A gentle squeeze that left him with a pleasant ache.

Letting out a contented sigh, he finally reached over to pick his phone up. He winced when the screen lit up, blinded by the brightness of it. He covered his eyes with his arm for a moment, then tried reading it again.

_ New message from Neal. _

He smiled and unlocked the screen.

“How'd the date go????”

The question was followed by a string of little faces and symbols Rumford decided were meant to convey the extent of his son's morbid curiosity. He checked the time again and shifted in bed. Under the circumstances, Neal being in another timezone was a bit of a blessing. He sat up a little, tapped the dial button, and patiently waited for Neal to pick up.

_ “Dad!” _

He smiled and relaxed against the pillows more comfortably at the sound of his voice. “Hey, son. How are things?”

“Same as they were when I called you last night.” Neal said. “But  _ you _ had a date.”

Rumford scoffed and rubbed a hand over his face.

“So...?”

“I ah, had a wonderful time.” he said. “She's lovely.”

There was a stretch of silence before Neal baited him with an,  _ “And...?” _

He knit his brows together. “What?”

“Did ya kiss her?”

“Oh. I–  _ kissed _ her, yeah.” he mumbled evasively, balling his fist up at the corner of his mouth.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Neal laughed. “Actually, you know what? No. Don't answer tha–”

“I gave her a kiss on the hand.”

“Oh.” Neal sighed in relief. “Wait– the  _ hand?” _

“I don't know.” Rumford sighed. “I-it felt right at the time.”

“I mean .. It sounds  _ kind of _ romantic, I guess...” he trailed off.

“I-I was nervous. And she'd been drinking earlier, I didn't–” he stammered.

“Are you gonna see her again?”

“I am.” Rumford answered right away, a smile tugging at his lips. “Today, actually. Before my flight. She'll be joining me at the flea market.”

“Whoa! The _flea_ _market!?”_ Neal teased. Movin’ fast there, Pop. Better be careful.” 

He huffed and threw the covers off of his body, pushing himself out of bed with a little grunt.

“Alright, alright. But seriously, dad– You like… _ like _ her?”

_ Did he like her?  _ Rumford’s heart fluttered in his chest at the mere  _ thought _ of her. “...I do.” he said, grateful that his son couldn't see the dopey grin on his face. 

“Then you better give her a  _ real _ kiss this time.”

“Oh. A-ah– I…”

_ “On the mouth.” _

Rumford took a deep breath and peered through the curtains at the relatively quiet street below. “I'll… keep that in mind Neal, thank you.” he dismissed.

“I mean it.” he said. “Not the cheek, or the forehead, or the  _ hand _ , you fuckin’ nerd–”

_ “Language.” _

Neal groaned and tried again. “You…  _ giant _ nerd?”

“Why am I talking to you about this anyway?” Rumford muttered, pulling the curtains open wide and flooding the room with morning night. “You're my  _ son, _ for God's sake.”

“What? I'm an adult. I'm just trying to help you get laid!”

_ “Neal!” _

“Okay, okay!” he said, and he was rolling his eyes, for sure– Rumford could tell.

“Just, you shouldn't be concerning yourself with your father's… love life.”

“Yeah well, too bad. I've been concerned for like, ten years. Not about to stop now.”

“Ten!?”

“What? You need a girlfriend, Pop. ...Or a boyfriend. Whichever.”

_ “Boyfriend? _ Y-you think I–”

“The whole dressing nice and collecting fancy lamps thing might have had me convinced when I was like, fourteen. I'm not proud of it, okay?”

Rumford hiked his brows.  _ Well, _ that explained about a dozen offhand comments his son had made to him about one of his colleagues at that age.

_ “That Jefferson's a good looking guy, huh? Sharp dresser?” _

_ “You guys have a lot in common. Both  _ dads… _ both  _ single…”

_ “Maybe you should invite him over for dinner. Talk about… not research stuff.” _

_ “You know Papa, you're the best dad ever and I love you no matter what.” _

Rumford scoffed and shook his head.  _ Ridiculous. _ Jefferson was simply a natural flirt. Everyone in his academic circle knew it. And even  _ if _ he may have unconsciously flirted back, it didn't have to mean anything. That was just how they got on. Their sense of humor, as it were. Playful banter between friends.

He paused and blinked. Alright, so in  _ retrospect, _ there may have been  _ some _ attraction there, but it's not like anything ever came of it. At least, certainly nothing that made him feel the way he did around Miss French last night.

He coughed and dragged his feet over to the coffee maker, beginning to prod at the assortment of tea bags on the tray beside it.

“You're not gonna introduce her to that  _ guy _ though, are you?” Neal asked.

“Are you implying I shouldn't?”

“Dude, he's like a... creepy uncle! I don't know!”

“Please. He's harmless.” Rumford said, plucking out a bag of green tea and setting it aside. “And you don't even have any uncles.”

“Fair enough. But hey, dad. You sound a lot better now.”

He paused midway from grabbing a cup and furrowed his brows. “How do you mean?”

“You're less nervous.”

“Oh. Well, aye.” he chuckled. “I suppose I am.”

“Eh, you probably just aren't awake yet.” Neal said.

“Your confidence in your father is astounding.” Rumford deadpanned. “But I'll have you know, I've been up since four. If I'm not _ awake _ by now…” he trailed off.

“I'm just going to wait until  _ after _ you've had your morning tea to say I'm impressed.”

Rumford scoffed and busied himself with the coffee maker, setting it up to dispense some hot water. “I'm gonnae take her to Cogsworth's.” he finally said.

“Ugh!  _ Why!? _ That guy's a fuckin’ douche!”

_ “Language!” _ he snipped. “Christ, son– ye kiss your  _ mum _ wi’that mouth?”

_ “Yeah?” _ Neal snorted. “Where do you think I  _ got _ it from?”

Rumford tapped his finger on the countertop for a moment. It was a valid point. Neal's mother had a mouth like a sailor. He let out a resigned huff and returned to the question.  _ “Because, _ Neal. She's a  _ librarian, _ and I think she would  _ appreciate _ it.”

“I guess. But he's still a dou–  _ jerk.” _

_ Ah _ . Perhaps his attempts to clean his son's mouth up weren't so futile after all, Rumford thought with a smile.

“Enough about me, now. What are your plans for today? Anything interesting?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, come on– Can't ye give your old man  _ something? _ Anything?”

“Like what?”

Rumford pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is this what our phone calls will be like every week when you're off at school?”

“Probably.” Neal snorted. “But like, with more of me begging you for money.”

Rumford sighed and tapped his finger in the counter again.

“I'm just kidding, pop. But it's Sunday. No plans. Just… be around the flat, watching TV and stuff I guess.”

“And your mother?”

“Oh. There's some new exhibition at one of the museums about polly… polyp–”

“Polynesia.”

“Yes. That. But I don't feel like going.”

“I think you should go.”

Neal sighed. “But–”

“I know, I know.” Rumford cut in. “But she's your mother. She doesn't get to spend as much time with you, and well… she  _ loves _ you. In her way.”

“I guess.”

“Besides, haven't you studied Oceania in any of your art history classes at school?”

“My high school had  _ one _ art history class, dad. And they crammed everything that wasn't done by old white dudes or the Egyptians into like, two weeks.”

Rumford scoffed. He’d liked to think that history classes these days had become less Eurocentric than they were in his youth. Apparently that wasn’t the case.

“Well, there you go!” he said. “I think any aspiring graphic designer could benefit greatly from looking at traditional Polynesian art. The use of positive and negative space, the visual rhythm, the balance achieved in asymmetrical compositions…” he trailed off.

“I said I guess.” Neal grumbled.

“Lovely.” Rumford smiled. “I'm sure it will make her day.”

Another miserable sound came from the other end of the line.

“Oh, it’ll be fine!” Rumford said. “The idiot box will still be waiting for you when you get back home.”

 

*****

  
  


Belle had been sitting patiently in the hotel lobby since 9:17 AM, and was beginning to regret her choice of seating. The awkwardly shaped and overly firm armless chair faced away from the front doors and the cramp she was getting in her neck was far from being helped from turning around to look every time she heard them slide open.

_ Woosh. _

Young couple.

_ Woosh. _

Businesswoman.

_ Woosh. _

Family of five.

_ Woosh. _

A band of unsupervised children.

_ Woosh. _

Nope. Oh no. She wasn’t going to look this time– curiosity and impatience be damned. Rumford said he’d pick her up at ten. It was 9:52. He had a whole eight minutes.  _ Then _ she’d give herself permission to worry that he’d realized what a wacko she was and hightailed it back to syracuse.

“Miss French?”

Yes. Eight minutes. Give or take five to account for traffic. If he still wasn’t here by 10:06, the she’d run back up to the hotel room and question all of her life choices.

Unless something had come up? What if his son called and there was some sort of emergency? She never gave him her number (rookie mistake!), but she had his.

“Miss French?”

Should she call him? Or would that be desperate? No, no. 10:30. She’d wait until 10:30. Give or take fifteen min–  _ wait. _

“Ack!” Finally registering the presence beside her, Belle jumped and clasped her hand over her mouth. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!”

It was him. Rumford. Punctual at 9:54. He’d forgone his usual suit and tie today. His jacket was navy, rather than his usual black or charcoal– at least, she was pretty sure it was navy. Hard to tell in this lighting. And instead of a rich, jewel-toned dress shirt, vest, and tie, he simply wore a crisp, white, linen shirt with the top button undone. He always looks so dapper in this three-piece suit and tie, but this? This was good too.

Very, very good.

_ Say hello to him,  _ the helpful voice in her head chimed in.

Belle shook off her stupor and stood up, smoothing out her dress. “H-hi.”

He furrowed his brows. “Good morning…” he said with a flummoxed, lopsided little smirk on his face.

“Yes.” She glanced down at the tiny exposed bit of his chest and wet her lips. Maybe as the day wore on, he’d shed the jacket. Or undo another button. A girl could dream.

She looked down at the casual, lemon yellow sundress she wore and wrapped an arm around herself. Her flat sandals probably made her look stumpy, and for Pete’s sake, she’d just gotten her toes done three days ago! How did she get a chip in her pedicure already!? Rumford was looking as sharp and sexy as ever and she looked like a potato!  _ A cute potato, _ Ruby had assured her– but a potato nonetheless.

“I mean–” she coughed, “good morning.”

“Good morning.” he repeated, chuckling a little uncomfortably. His eyes drifted from her face, and Belle turned her head to see what it was before realizing he was staring at her shoulder, which was bare save for the thin straps of her bra and dress.

_ Under-dressed! Under-dressed! Under-dressed!  _ The significantly less helpful voice in her head shouted.

It was a cute bra though, she assured herself. It was frilly and delicate with little rosebuds on the straps and cost her like, eighty dollars. Surely, if he could waltz around without a tie and with a button undone like some sort of Grecian sex god, she could wear spaghetti straps and cute lingerie, right? It was only fair.

Yes. She wasn’t under-dressed. He was  _ over- _ dressed! Who wore slacks to the flea market anyway!?

...Dr Rumford Gold did, and it was reason number 468 why she wanted to marry him.

He blushed and cleared his throat, looking her in the eyes again. “H-how are you? Have you ah, eaten yet?”

“Yeah.  _ Yes.” _ she nodded, and he just smiled back, not saying a word.

_ God, _ he was cute. With his dimples and his cheeks and the way all the fine lines around his eyes scrunched with the slightest change in his expression.

“Oh!” She snapped out of it and shook her head. “Um, how about you?”

His grin widened and he nodded quickly. “Aye. I’m fine.”

“Cool. Good. Um…” she cleared her throat and wrung her hands over her belly. This was the part where they hugged or shook hands or something, right? Or was it too late for that? After all, they’d practically had a whole conversation already–  _ Hi, good morning, how are you? _ Very good talk.

Rumford seemed to mirror her uncertainty, which was a small comfort. His eyes darted to and from her features several times and his hands twitched hesitantly. The strange silence between them stretched long enough to the point that any possible embarrassment Belle might bring upon herself by making a move suddenly seemed preferable, so she went for it– Slipped her arms around him and gave him a hug.

Rumford was so warm and fit so perfectly in her arms. His body was somewhat rigid, but he slowly relaxed into the embrace and  _ oh God _ he was actually hugging her back. Hugs were good. 

Very, very good.

“...Good morning,” she mumbled for a third time against his shoulder.  _ He’s a loving father, _ Belle recalled as she helped herself to a deep whiff of his cologne.  _ Of course he gives amazing hugs. _

They pulled apart slowly, cautiously, and went back to fumbling with their hands.

“Y-you sleep well?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Oh.” Belle felt herself blush and threw a hand over her mouth to keep the truth from falling out. “Uh… honestly?”

_ I had a dream last night that I got promoted to library director and you came back to my hotel room to bang me into a sex coma, but then I woke up before you could get your pants off, so after a half hour of trying to fall back asleep so I could finish said dream, I gave up and spent the rest of the night thinking about what a good kisser you probably are, what kind of a lover you might be, and trying to figure out what to wear today, as if I’d packed more than one outfit. _

“...I’ve um, slept better.” she settled with.

He scoffed and glanced away for a moment, his cheeks reddening as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Same here, I’m afraid.”

_ Same here?  _ Did that mean he also spent the night fantasizing about all the things they could to together with their mouths?

“You know what?” Belle said, “I just– I’ve never seen you um… not wearing a tie? And uh…”  _ Practically naked?  _ No, no. Not that. Don't say that.

“Oh. Well, just dressing a little more… practical. For where we’re going.” he said, looking away as the color of his cheeks deepened further. “The ah, the tie gets a little stuffy in the heat, is all.” He folded his arms over his chest, but it wasn’t a confident stance by any means. He was making himself small, shuffling his feet uneasily. Was he taking that the wrong way?

He was definitely taking it the wrong way.

“Yeah. Absolutely. Of course.” she blurted. “I mean, you look nice though. Very um, very nice. Really hot.” His brows raised and she shook her head.  _ “Outside, _ I mean. It’s h-hot outside and you look nice.”

He chuckled weakly and glanced out the window over his shoulder. “Aye. It  _ is _ ah…” he coughed and turned back to her, a half-smirk slowly creeping across his face. “...hot outside.”

Belle blinked owlishly.

_ Wait, was that–? Did he just–? _

_ Dr Rumford Gold might have just called you hot. _

“Well, um,” she tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear and swallowed. “I’m uh, ready to– to go if you are.”

“Right.” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll… show you to the car, then.” He looked down at her hand while his own twitched at his side, and Belle watched it for a moment, debating whether or not to take it. He beat her to the punch, however, and she felt his touch. Searching her eyes for any sign of protest, Rumford gently grasped her hand. She gave him an encouraging squeeze, earning herself a timid, dimpled smile in return.

“God, you are  _ really _ cute,” she said before she could help herself.

Rumford went rigid again and blinked. “E-excuse me?”

“Nothing.” Belle shook her head. “I just…” She trailed off, pretending to have something in her eye.  _ You’re not even drunk this time, Belle. No excuse. _

He stared at her for a moment and swallowed. “Let's go, shall we?”

  
  
  
  


*****

  
  
  


Yellow suited her. The bright, cheery color matched her sunny disposition, and Rumford found himself drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Her passion for books, for knowledge, for life, all bubbled out of her during the car ride, and whatever doubts he may have had about their outing were wiped away by the delighted look on her face when they finally arrived at the flea market.

He’d been planning on helping her out of the car– being a gentleman like his auntie Edith always taught him– but Belle was an eager step or two ahead of him, which he only found more endearing. As she bounded out of the car and towards the entrance, he couldn’t help thinking how her spiritedness matched his auntie Ainsley's. She quickly noticed he’d fallen behind and skipped back over to him, her plump cheeks already a little flushed from the bit of exertion.

“So what are we looking for today?” she asked, falling in step with him as he caught up.

“Oh, nothing in particular,” he said. “One never really knows what they’ll find. Just have to look.”

Her mouth twisted into a thoughtful little pout. “What sorts of things do you  _ usually _ pick up? Do you always find something, or do you sometimes look around for hours only to leave empty handed?”

Rumford couldn't help grinning at all of her questions. “I can usually find  _ something.” _ he said with a half shrug. “A watch or piece of jewelry, if nothing else. But ah… a good haul– art, furniture, those sorts of things– maybe happens once every three trips or so.”

She nibbled her lip for as long as she could before breaking into a smile. “...And is this a  _ third or so _ trip?” she asked, wiggling her brows.

His eyes drifted upwards as he tried to recall the last few trips he’d made to a market or estate sale. “...Fourth, I believe.”

“So that means you’re due to find something special then, hm?” she said. “You know, statistically speaking?”

“I suppose I am.” he chuckled. A sudden aplomb came over him then, and he turned to face her better. _ “Though one might argue, Miss French,” _ he took her hand and looked into her eyes, rubbing his thumb in little circles over the back of her hand. “That I already found something quite special yesterday.”

She fought back another smile, trying so hard at it that had he not known any better, he might think she’d just sucked on a lemon– That is to say, it was one of the most charming things he’d ever bared witness to.

“Well now, it’s hardly anything to smile about, Miss French.” he teased in as stern a voice as he could muster. “Means this trip could very likely prove to be a complete waste of time.”

Belle shook her head and laughed. “No, I wouldn’t say  _ that.”  _ she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Rumford turned away, his courage gone as quickly as it came, and hid his face behind his hair. What was he supposed to say to that? Belle let go of his hand, and he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed by the fact. Surely, both were possible?

“So… jewelry isn’t as profitable for as say... furniture?” she asked. “Last night you mentioned that you usually buy it at scrap value.”

He happily latched onto the change of subject. “It’s really not.” he coughed. “Everyone wants to sell their jewelry, but not many people come in looking to  _ buy _ it, you know? Sits in the case for months. People who come into the shop are usually looking to furnish their homes. They're after statement pieces, period pieces.

“Hm.” She pouted again before narrowing her eyes at him. “What about you?” she asked. “Do you have a favorite style? Do you ever keep any of the stuff you buy for yourself?”

“Oh, well…” That was a question customers asked him almost every day at the shop. The sort who were looking to buy antiques for the mere sake of it, to be kept as vulgar displays of wealth. The sort who would rather co-opt his taste rather than develop their own. But Belle wasn't any such customer, and this wasn't his shop. “I-I like the Queen Anne style, art nouveau... Love the elegant details, the sinuous lines, the rich finishes.” he answered truthfully. “But it's been a long while since I took anything home. I've been dealing antiques a long time, you know? At this point, if I wanted to keep anything more for myself,” he chuckled, “I'm afraid I'd need a bigger house.”

She let out a giggle and sighed. “Your house must be  _ amazing.” _

“Oh.” he blushed and rubbed a hand over his neck. She was really going to have to stop doing that. Saying nice things about him. To his face. “Oh, ah dunno. It's a bit cluttered, really. Certainly lived-in.”

Cluttered and lived-in. That sounded better than bordering on disaster. Half-dissected trinkets littered the unused side of his dining room table. Every other available surface was covered with knickknacks he hadn't quite found the right place for yet. The living room was becoming an obstacle course of antique frames and crates full of bric-a-brac. Fixer-upper dressers, sideboards, and chairs occupied the garage, leaving him no choice but to evict his Cadillac to the driveway. He’d once had a cleaning lady who came by every week, but eventually he deemed it not worthwhile, as the parts of the house he’d instructed her not to bother touching soon became the  _ majority _ of the house.

He wasn't as bad as his aunties, though. No, no. They were  _ hoarders. _ But him? He just happened to have a lot of stuff and not enough space to put it– Important distinction, that.

“Well, I'm sure it looks like a palace compared to mine and Ruby's apartment.” Belle snorted. “...With all our clearance IKEA and thrifted nineties furniture.”

“Oh, I'm sure it's charming all the same.” he said. After all, he would expect nothing less of any space that was graced by Belle's warm presence on a daily basis. She could probably make a cardboard box feel homey.

The crowd thickened as they reached the entrance to the market’s east wing, and Rumford instinctively took Belle's hand again– keeping her close the way he always did when he brought Neal when he was a boy. His pulse thickened in his throat as he realized what he'd just done– but then she looked up at him and smiled, nudging herself against him so that they were shoulder to shoulder.

Rumford swallowed and blinked. Cleared his throat. Tried his best not to look at her lips. Failed.

_ You gotta give her a real kiss this time. On the mouth. _

His tongue suddenly felt too dry, too big for his mouth. He supposed it wouldn't be much to lower his head and press his lips to hers. Gently, briefly. But– No, no. The timing wasn't right. They'd get to that. Later. Much later. He had time.

He managed to tear his gaze from her lips to those bright blue eyes, and that did nothing to help. He  _ wanted _ to kiss her. But how could he? Every muscle in his body seemed to lock in place at the thought. The voice in his head telling him it would be unfathomably presumptuous of him to kiss her managed to be far louder than the memory of every flirtatious remark she'd made to him in the past twenty-four hours.

Sure, she said you were amazing and handsome and sweet and sexy and– well, _a good candidate for a mustache–_ but that didn't mean she actually wanted you to _kiss_ her. Best not to assume, right?

They made it through the thick of the crowd, and she slipped her hand from his so she could run ahead and see everything. After glancing around the market in awe for a moment, she clasped her hands together and spun around. “There’s so much here! It's almost as big as the mall back in Storybrooke!”

Rumford chuckled and nodded as he caught up to her. “Aye, it's something, isn't it?”

Her eyes went past him to behold the many little booths again and widened. “And there's so much  _ food!” _

“Indeed there is.”

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “God, it smells so good… Have you tried all of it?”

He attempted a contemplative scowl, but could only smile instead. Her enthusiasm was simply too contagious for anything else. “Not all, no. But a fair bit.”

“Any recommendations?” she asked, stepping toe-to-toe with him. “I wanna try something!”

He blinked down at her and the expectant gleam in her eyes, his smile still stubbornly in place. He cleared his throat and looked around for a moment. “Well, the ice cream over there is delicious.” he said, nodding in its direction.

She followed his gaze to the booth straight ahead.

_ “Some mint chocolate chip in a waffle cone...” _ he recommended. “And the chocolate from that booth there is to die for. The gourmet popcorn is also quite good, over here– you can get it with some chocolate drizzled on top…” He continued to point across the market at the different vendors, but his eyes never strayed from her face for long.

“Those things aren't  _ food, _ ” Belle admonished. “They're  _ sweets!” _

Rumford scoffed and leaned forward, closing the distance between them. “Oh, I assure you, ice cream and chocolate are very much food in my book.”

Belle narrowed her eyes at him, fighting back a smile, and  _ Gods, _ was he beginning to enjoy that too much. These futile attempts to mask her excitement and joy at even the smallest things. She was as bright and warm as the sun, and he wanted to bask in her glow like a cat lying in a bay window on a clear and quiet afternoon.

“Does someone have a sweet tooth, Mr Gold?” she teased, raising a brow.

He met her gaze and wet his lips. “I'm afraid so, Miss French.”

Her lips parted and she inched closer to him, peering up at him through her eyelashes. 

_ Oh, God. _ What did he just say? Where did it come from? Regardless, it was definitely a  _ line, _ wasn't it?

Yesterday David told him he was flirting with her, and he'd been right. He  _ was _ flirting with her. Without even thinking about it. During her appraisal. At the bar last night. Reciprocating her comment about the hot weather, saying he'd found something special yesterday, and now  _ this? _

He should just kiss her right now. It was as good a setup as one could hope for. She was sweet, he had a sweet tooth. Teeth, mouth. Mouths, kissing. Kissing on the mouth. But wasn't the timing odd? You were supposed to  _ end _ a date with a good kiss rather than start it with one, no? What if he kissed her now, but their goodbye kiss wasn't as good? He'd be setting himself up for failure, surely.  _ Rumford Gold? Aye, just expect every kiss from that bastard to be even more disappointing than the last. _

He was definitely thinking about it too much, he knew that much. The moment was probably gone by now, anyway. He pulled his focus away from her inviting lips to her gleaming eyes, and if the moment was gone, she at least didn't seem to notice.

_ When's the last time you put yourself out there?  _ David had asked.

But this would be their first kiss! Of what he hoped would be many, many kisses! It should be special, shouldn't it? He should have just kissed her last night. Ended their date with a nice kiss, gotten it out of the way then. Had he done that, kissing her now would be so simple. All the subsequent kisses would be no big deal at all, but the  _ first  _ one?

No, no. He couldn't. Not right now. He still had plenty of time. 

“...So.” He cleared his throat and put on a smile. “What might you like to try?”

  
  
  


*****

  
  


“Your mint looks delicious.” Belle said, watching him enjoy his cone. So he hadn't kissed her yet– A disappointing setback, sure, but they still had plenty of time. And admittedly, watching his lips and tongue work as he mouthed at his ice cream wasn't so bad either.  Was she really jealous of an ice cream cone?

Yes. Yes, she was.

Rumford licked his lips and looked at her with a smile. “Would you care to try it?” he asked, holding out to her.

She bit back a smile and nodded, but how did she wanna do this? Should she take the cone from him, or just lean forward and have him hold it for her? Well, that was no contest. Clearly, the latter was the more coquettish option of the two. Taking a small step forward, she leaned in and opened her mouth, but  _ wait– _ Would it be too forward of her to look him in the eyes as she licked his cone?  _ Probably _ . No, eyes closed was probably best. Spare themselves the porno stare and an awkward and obvious attempt to avoid direct eye contact.

So she closed her eyes and took a mouthful of his mint chocolate chip ice cream. A large enough bite to demonstrate her enthusiasm, but not so large as to get carried away. Moderation was key. Probably.

It was delicious indeed, and she didn't miss the look on his face as she opened her eyes and licked the taste from her lips. 

He blinked and coughed. “...Good?”

“Mhm!” she smiled. “How about you? Would you care to try my strawberry?”

He hesitated a moment and nodded. “Certainly.”

Belle was prepared for this. She'd been staring at him eat his ice cream the whole damn time. Earlier, he'd smiled directly at her and licked his lips, so if he looked at her now as he tried her ice cream there’d be no surprises, right?

Wrong.

Definitely not even close to the same thing. Jerk didn't even  _ try _ to close his eyes or look away. Full-blown porno stare. While he did things. With his mouth. To her own ice cream.

“...Delicious.” he said, pulling away and licking his lips. “Thank you.”

“...Yeah…” she agreed dumbly. “Thank you too.”

He had to know what he was doing, right? He had to.

Because several minutes later, when her ice cream began to melt, he’d taken his napkin and swept it along her wrist as it started to dribble down her arm. He’d grasped her wrist, his touch so gentle– a tease, really– and looked her in the eyes as he brushed the napkin along her arm. Smiled and said, “There we are,” as he finished, when he really could have just said, “Hey, you've got ice cream on you.”

So, totally a move on his part.

That was fine, though. Because a moment later, he took a large, finishing bite of his cone and got a dab of mint on the tip of his nose. Belle wasn't one to squander an opportunity like that when it presented itself. She swiped it off with her finger and popped it into her mouth, then complimented him on his nose and how handsome and distinguished it made him look.

“You have a really nice nose.” she said. “It makes you look very uh… handsome and distinguished.”

He blushed terribly and looked away, so Belle continued eating her cone– what was left of it at this point anyway. She couldn't figure out how to look cute while eating the bottom part of the cone, and now it was dripping all over the ground. As long as Rumford wasn't looking at her she might as well go to town though, right? 

But then he cleared his throat and leaned into her ear. His voice came in a deep murmur. “And you, Miss French, possess a boldness that inspires a man to look inside himself and seek his own.”

_ What.  _ Belle stopped slurping the melted ice cream from the bottom of her cone and froze. He’d been driving her mad all morning and _ she _ was the one who possessed a boldness? A boldness that made him want to be bold too? How was she supposed to respond to that? A simple thank you seemed insufficient. She shoved the remainder of her ice cream cone into her mouth to buy herself a moment to think about it.

_ You make me feel like a natural woman? _

_ More than a woman. _

_ You make me feel mighty real? _

_ Dammit Belle, those are songs. Chew slower and think about this. _

“Well, if it isn't Mr Gold!” a voice boomed from one of the stalls, pulling Belle out of her thoughts. “Rum, you old bastard– how the hell have you been!?”

She swallowed her ice cream and settled her eyes on Rumford, who gave her an apologetic look and smiled.

“That's–?”

“Aye.” he chuckled and nodded in the man's direction. “Let me introduce you.”

“Of course.” Belle smiled, ditching her napkin in the nearby trash can and wiping her hand on her dress.  _ Classy. _

Rumford rest his hand on the small of her back, leading her to a stall headed by an older, balding man with a pink complexion, unruly white hair, and bushy eyebrows. Behind him were several crammed shelves that seemed to hold more junk than anything else, but he sat quite proudly at the counter in his rackety old lawn chair nonetheless.

“Here to rip me off again, are you?” he asked.

Rumford scoffed. “Ripping people off is  _ your _ business strategy, not mine.”

“Hey now, not so loud–” the man leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper.  _ “You're gonna scare the customers away.” _

Rumford arched a brow, a crooked smirk curling his lips. “Actually… I believe it was the funny smell that put me off the first time.”

Belle giggled at that, and it wasn't until then that the man seemed to notice her.

“I see you have company.” he said, sitting up straight and giving her an appraising look. “Who is this?”

Rumford's cheeks quickly turned a delightful shade of pink. “Yes, ah… Belle. This is Zoso. Zoso, this is um, this is Belle.” he stammered. “...Belle French. She's ah, she's…” he hesitated and looked to her for help, “...a f-friend?”

“Aha…” Zoso grinned, looking to Belle. “You know, this guy doesn’t share his sources with just anybody. You must be a keeper.” He reached across the table to shake her hand, and she smiled at Rumford who was now about as red as a tomato. “...Now blink twice if you need me to call security,” he added in a mock whisper.

Belle shook her head and laughed, giving him a firm handshake. “It’s lovely to meet you, Zoso.”

“Anyway, welcome to my humble abode. Actually, Rum–” Zoso snapped a finger at him, “I'm glad you showed up today. I got something that I think'll make you shit your pants.”

Rumford hiked his brows. “I certainly hope not,” he said, watching as Zoso pushed himself out of his chair with a labored grunt. The man carefully waded toward the cluttered shelves and overflowing boxes behind him. “...If it's another Hummel figure, I'm going to be very disappointed.” Rumford joked.

Zoso let out a full-belly laugh. “Of course not!” He said, swatting a hand as he disappeared amongst his wares. “How long have we known each other? You know I wouldn't do you like that! You're my number one customer!”

“I'm flattered.”

Zoso poked his head out from behind one of the shelves. “Seriously, this one's got great taste,” he told Belle, winking and sticking a thumb out at Rumford. “Impeccable.”

“Oh, I agree.” she smiled, looking at Rumford and nibbling her lip. He quickly glanced away as their eyes met, hiding behind his hair. How he could go from smooth talker to shrinking violet one minute to the next, Belle couldn't figure out– but what she  _ did _ know was that she wanted to snog him senseless either way.

“I mean it, though–” Zoso said, “it's no fun selling this stuff to those idiots who don't know what they're looking at. They believe everything I tell 'em. That is, until I tell them the price, at least. Then I'm suddenly a hack who doesn't know what he's talking about.”

“You  _ are _ a hack who doesn't know what he's talking about.” Rumford scoffed.

“I know  _ exactly _ what I'm talking about.” he hollered from the back. “Whether or not I'm lying is a different story!”

Belle let out another giggle. She wasn't sure what she was expecting when Rumford told her about his friend at the flea market, but Zoso was proving to be quite a character.

Something fragile fell from one of the racks, and Belle and Rumford winced as it crashed to the floor.

She cleared her throat. “Erm, do you need help? Mr Zoso?” she asked, leaning over the counter to see what he was doing.

“Nah, it's fine. …Was just another damn Hummel.” he deadpanned, and there was some more commotion as he continued to dig through his inventory. “Ah, here we are...” he said, finally reappearing from behind the shelves carrying a Tiffany lamp with a dragonfly pattern on its shade. “...What do you think?”

_ “Oh.” _ His interest piqued, Rumford tilted his head and stepped closer to the counter as Zoso set the lamp on the table. “It's actually the right shape this time.” he commented, and Zoso rolled his eyes. “Right motif as well.”

“Well, go on. Do your thing,” Zoso said, stepping back. 

Gently bracing the lampshade with one hand, Rumford leaned in closely, holding his ear to it. He knocked on it a few times with the other hand, and the tiny panes of glass shook slightly. “...Wee bit of rattle,” he said with a little nod. “That's good.” He pulled away to study the individual pieces of stained glass and touched a finger to an amber-colored tile. Squinting at it for a moment, he finally gave a satisfied little hum and studied the rest of the shade, tracing his finger along several of the hairline cracks in the glass. Then he picked the lamp up by its base, scowling as he examined the hardware and wiring. “Hm. That all looks to be in order…” he shrugged, looking back up at Zoso. “Have you any acetone on hand?”

Zoso shot Belle an exasperated look. “Can you believe this one?” he groaned. Nonetheless, he crouched down behind his counter and produced a small bottle of nail polish remover and an old t-shirt. “...Figured you might ask.”

Rumford smiled and dabbed the corner of the rag with some nail polish remover. He began gently rubbing it on a few of the glass pieces, a smile slowly blooming across his face as each tile passed whatever test he was administering.

“What are we looking for?” Belle asked. She'd seen a handful of Tiffany style lamps get appraised on the show, but she'd never seen anyone perform a test like this. “Wait–”

Rumford looked at her with a knowing, patient smile as she thought about it. Acetone. Stained glass. But… nothing was happening.

“Oh! The color.” she realized. “You're seeing if the glass is really stained or just painted.”

“Precisely. A genuine Tiffany... uses glass that has been colored by adding metals or metal oxides to the mixture while the glass is still molten.” he explained softly as he continued to work. “On imitations, the color is simply applied to the surface. Comes right off once you apply a thinner to it.”

“But– but what if it hadn't been a genuine Tiffany?” Belle asked. “You'd have ruined it!”

Rumford smiled. “Which is why we don't perform this test unless we're fairly certain of its authenticity first. And we'd  _ never _ do it on the show.” he chuckled and set the rag down. “Well, color me impressed, Zoso.” He admired the mosaic on the shade again and stepped aside, inviting Belle to take a closer look with the crook of his fingers.

She toed up beside him and he splayed a hand over her back, gently pulling her closer. The touch made her heart feel like it would burst, and he really needed to stop being so tactile before she melted into a puddle of goo on the ground. “It's um, it's really beautiful.” she stammered.

“We've got opalescent glass, favrile glass, streamer glass…” Rumford explained, pointing out the different sheens and patterns on each of the glass tiles. “Oh!” He grinned excitedly at her and tapped a finger on a green piece that had a speckled appearance. “Ring mottle right there. You don't see too much of that.”

Belle squinted at the piece of glass and frowned. “Why not? It's gorgeous.”

“Tiffany developed the technique for ring mottle in the early 20th century, but the technique was lost when the studio closed in 1928. Wasn't rediscovered until the sixties.”

“Wow.” Belle sighed, smiling back at him. Rumford Gold had his arm around her and was giving her a lesson on how to identify antiques. She was pretty sure she had at least a dozen different fantasies that started like this. 

“It's beautiful, isn't it?”

“It is. I love how the spots resemble the coloring of leaves.” she said. “I mean, yellow spots on a plant usually indicate it has a fungal infection or mites,” she couldn't help pointing out, “but it's um, a nice detail.”

Rumford looked away from the lampshade and gazed back at her, tilting his head. “...Fascinating. Do you garden, Miss French?”

“Oh.” Feeling herself blushing, Belle bit down on her lip and glanced away. “Well, my mom kept a rose bush and I grow my own tomatoes. And um, some herbs.”

He wet this lips and smiled. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Well, um… you know,” Belle shrugged. “It's not a big deal. But uh… the um,” she cleared her throat and pointed at the lampshade again. “The opalescent glass for the dragonfly's wings is beautiful as well.”

“Aye. It is, isn't it?” he said, and his arm tightened ever so slightly around her waist as his thumb began to rub back and forth through the fabric of her dress. “That's ultimately what drove Louis Comfort Tiffany to develop so many different types of stained glass– a desire to better replicate the ah…”

“Colors and textures found in nature.” Belle finished.

The corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk. “Yes. Precisely.”

“Louis Comfort Tiffany is one of the few American artists most strongly associated with art nouveau, so…you know.” she shrugged. “Nature.”

“But did you know that some of Tiffany Studios’ most successful designs– including the dragonfly we have here– were not conceived by Tiffany himself, but rather his lead designer, a woman named Carol Driscoll?”

Belle raised her brows. “I did not.”

“Should hardly come as a surprise, really.” he said, then leaned in closely and murmured, “In all my years studying antiques, one truth I find myself discovering time and time again, Miss French, is that behind every successful man is an intelligent and capable woman like yourself.”

“Oh!” Belle giggled.  _ “Rumford!” _

“What? One mustn't be shy about their own merits, Miss French.”

“I just–” she tucked her hair behind her ear and shifted on her feet. “Rumford, I don't know what to say…”

The hand on her waist slid up to squeeze her shoulder. “You don't have to say anything,” he crooned.

“You shouldn't be shy about  _ your _ merits either.” she said. Maybe he'd take the hint and kiss her already.

“Well, I'm afraid I can't help feeling a little inadequate,” he whispered into her ear, “In front of such charming company...” 

_ “Oh.” _ she blushed.

Zoso cleared his throat pointedly. “So– You want it or not?”

Rumford coughed and pulled his arm from Belle's waist, and she quickly turned away, balling a fist over her face to hide her flustered grin and pink cheeks.  _ He just called her intelligent and capable and charming. _

“Depends how much do you want for it.” Rumford answered.

“Eight.” Zoso said firmly.

“Hm.” he scowled. “I was thinking two and a half.”

_ “Two and a half?!”  _ Zoso squawked. “That's an insult!”

Rumford rolled his eyes and scoffed. Resting both palms on the edge of the counter, he leaned in slightly and wet his lips. “An insult?” He asked, his tone suddenly razor-sharp. “Tell me– how many serious buyers do ye have, Zoso? Honest? If no’ me, you can look forward to a bunch of dumpster divers and weekend hobbyists trying tae haggle you down to a few  _ hundred. _ Besides, ye know I have to make a profit on these things.”

Zoso rolled his eyes. “Fine. Six.”

“Hm.” Rumford frowned. “No deal. It's still gonnae be two and a half for me.”

“You confirmed the authenticity yourself! Some of them go for  _ tens _ of thousands!”

“Aye– At auction. And others go for  _ four.” _

“But it's got ring mottle!”

“Which is why I'm not asking less.”

Having finally recovered from the arrow Rumford had pierced her heart with ago, Belle darted her eyes back and forth between the two men, watching as they bounced counter offers at each other like players in a tennis match. The Rumford in front of her now, this staunch negotiator, was such a stark contrast from the gentle and sweet one she'd been walking with all morning. Not that she minded in the slightest with the way he was practically snarling, his voice growing deeper and his accent thicker.  _ Good grief. _

Was that what he sounded like in bed? _ No, no. Dangerous train of thought, Belle. Stop right there. _

“Okay, okay...” Zoso huffed. “You can take it home today for  _ three.  _ But I want a cut off what it sells for. Twenty percent. Finder’s fee.”

“Fifteen.” Rumford said. “Off of my _ profit. _ But I tell you what– I'll make it twenty-five percent if it sells for forty or more.”

Zoso folded his arms over his chest. “Only a tiny fraction of these things sell for over thirty-five.” he countered. “You might be good, but you ain't  _ Christie's _ or  _ Sotheby's _ . Make it twenty or more.”

A satisfied grin spread across Rumford's face. “...Deal.”

“I want that in writing, too.”

He nodded. “If that would make you feel better.”

“You're damn right it would. I know better than to trust you crazy Scottish bastards.”

Rumford just laughed and pulled out his checkbook and a pen. “...Another two hundred to cover the shipping?”

“Sure.” Zoso shrugged. “Or I can just hold onto it if you'd rather have the redhead pick it up.”

“Her  _ name _ is Miss Holloran.”

“Yeah, I'm never going to remember that.”

Rumford rolled his eyes and scribbled his pen. “Piece like this? You're right– I'll have her pick it up.” He tore out the check and handed it across the table. “So, what else have you got?”

“Come ‘round back and see for yourself.” Zoso said, gesturing at the shelves behind him. “And sorry about the mess, by the way. Had I known you were bringing a date, I would've tidied up a bit for ya.”

“Oh, really?” Rumford asked, raising a skeptical brow.

“...Nah.” he shrugged. “I was just trying to sound polite.”

Belle snorted and shook her head, following Rumford as he stepped around the counter.

“See? She thinks I'm funny.”

“It's fine, really.” Belle assured. “I don't mind at all.”

Rumford offered her his hand as they stepped over one of the many boxes that littered the floor. “Careful,” he whispered, and she laced her fingers between his as she regained her footing, giving him a light squeeze and a smile. He blushed and glanced away. “Let's ah… why don't we– th-this way.” he stammered, leading her down one of the narrow aisles.

“So are you in the antiques business as well, uh… Miss French?” Zoso asked from the other side.

“Oh, no.” she called out over the shelves. “I'm a librarian. Well, I  _ will _ be soon. I'm just an assistant for now, until I finish my degree in a few months.”

“...Huh. So you like books and stuff?”

“Oh yes,” she chuckled. “I love books.”

“Make sure this one takes you to Cogsworth’s shop, then.” Zoso said, appearing at the end of the aisle. “Guy's got books out the wazoo. Lot of rare and out of print stuff, too.”

“Hmm…” Belle bit back a smile and gave Rumford a sidelong look. “He didn't mention anything about that.” she teased.

Zoso clicked his tongue. “I'm disappointed in you, Babs.”

Rumford stopped poking around the shelves of bric-a-brac and huffed. He tossed a sideways at him glance over his shoulder. “Well _perhaps_ it was meant to be a _surprise,”_ he muttered.

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Zoso said. “So. Belle– Where did you find the old mutt?”

“Oh. Well, um…” Belle began, “we actually uh, met yesterday. On the show.”

“No kidding.” he scoffed. “Well that would explain why he's sweating more than usual.”

She stifled a giggle and, sensing Rumford's embarrassment, gave him a warm smile that she hoped would put him at ease.

“How'd the event go anyway, Rum? I mean–  _ good, _ obviously,” Zoso chuckled, gesturing at the two of them before disappearing behind another rack, “but you look at anything interesting?”

“As a matter of fact,” he looked at Belle and smiled, circling his thumb over the back of her hand. “I did.”

Belle blushed and fought back another smile. _ His confidence and flirtatiousness is directly proportionate to his proximity to antiques, _ she decided.

“Well…? Anything you'd care to share with the rest of the class?”

“Miss French here actually showed me a very rare book.” he explained, moving a few things around on the shelf to get to a blue glass vase that had caught his eye.

“Huck Finn? Origin of Species? Wuthering Heights?”

_ “Her Handsome Hero.” _ Belle answered proudly.

“Mm… never heard of it.

“Neither had I.” Rumford said, continuing to examine the vase. It had a sterling silver base and the glass had an elegant, fluted shape. “But… we believe it may have been printed by an elusive group of Parisian feminist artists who dabbled in the occult.”

“Oh wow.” Zoso chuckled. “Where'd you get your hands on something like that?”

“My mother gave it to me.” Belle said. “It's been in my family for generations.”

“No shit.”

_ “Hey Zoso–” _ Rumford called out. “Cobalt vase, sterling silver? I'm guessing... no later than 1890?”

“That ugly thing?” he joked. “...Two-fifty.”

“One-twenty-five.”

“Eh... sure.” Zoso huffed, coming over and snatching it out of his hands so he could set it on the counter up front. “Only because I think you're alright.”

By the time they left Zoso's, Rumford's purchases had grown to include two more vases, a gilded frame, a mantle clock, and a violin– all of which he would have have his assistant pickup next week. Buried behind some boxes, Belle had even found a California job case containing some moveable type. The typeface inside was missing most of its glyphs, but she had the pleasure of watching Rumford's face light up as she explained to him what it was– as well as the pleasure of watching him blush like a fool when she bought it for him to either give Neal, or keep as a reminder of him when he left for school. Rumford insisted he could pay for it, but Belle put her foot down, arguing it was the least she could do to say thank you after he'd paid for their drinks last night. With that settled, they were off to Cogsworth's bookshop.

Cogsworth's was even more impressive than Zoso had made it sound. The shop took up three stalls, and shelves crammed with books were tightly arranged in the space.

“What do you think?” Rumford asked as they stepped inside, the air thick with the musky smell of old pages and leather.

The scent had already lured Belle in. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “It's amazing.”

He leaned into her ear and cleared his throat gently. “Try not to mind the owner. He can be… Well, a bit of a pretentious arse.” he whispered.

Belle peered across the shop to the counter where a man stood twirling his exceptionally well-groomed mustache. She fought back a giggle but couldn't help snorting anyway. “I see.”

“Here,” Rumford said, taking her hand and nodding toward the back. “I'll show you where he keeps the good stuff.”

Belle giddily followed his lead as he guided her to a collection of early editions. They were locked in a glass case with a sign that read,  _ “I DON'T ENJOY HAVING MY TIME WASTED: SERIOUS BUYERS ONLY PLEASE!!! -MANAGEMENT” _

Belle blinked owlishly at the sign for a moment and shrugged. She and Rumford then proceeded to spend a good ten minutes pointing out titles of interest. A copy of  _ Persuasion. Wuthering Heights. Around the World in Eighty Days. Great Expectations.  _ Next year, Belle decided, she'd come back and spend her bonus on an Austen rather than a pair of Guccis.

The two of them slowly drifted apart as they browsed the rest of the shop, Rumford floating toward non-fiction as she followed her heart to British literature. A lovely copy of  _ North and South _ caught her attention, and she quickly pulled it from the shelf to thumb through it.

“Ahem. Just what do you think you're doing, miss?”

The man with the mustache appeared at her side and Belle jumped, almost dropping the book in her hands. “Oh, nothing.” she chuckled, “just looking around. You um, have a lot of wonderful editions here.”

“Yes, that I do. But it seems to me you're doing a fair bit more than  _ looking.” _ he said, darting a pointed glance at her hands.

She tilted her head. “Um… I'm sorry, what?”

“You know, the oils from your fingers can compromise the inks on the cover.”

Belle scoffed. “And the  _ humidity _ in here can compromise the bindings.”

The man sniffed and turned around. “Just be careful with the inventory, please…”

Belle rolled her eyes and returned the book to its shelf. “Jerk,” she muttered under her breath, wading deeper into the shop where several bargain bins were lined up. Perhaps she could browse  _ those _ without being supervised like a child, she thought sourly.

Most of the books proved to be low-brow, short-lived pop culture sensations. Teen romances. Badly written erotica. Wildly inaccurate historical fiction. Others were outdated reference books for things like computer software not much younger than she was herself. Belle rolled her eyes and let out a huff.

She glanced around at the other boxes until her eyes landed on one labeled  _ manuscripts and journals - ask for price. _ Her interest piqued, she stepped over and peered inside. The few on the top seemed to be nothing of any interest, as old as they looked. But one with a purple and black binding caught her eye. The cover was nearly falling off and the pages had severe foxing, but its contents seemed to be legible for the most part. It appeared to be a diary, with entries written in French that were dated over a hundred years old. She scanned over a few pages, picking up a few details here and there– an arranged marriage with a man named Philippe, an unnamed lover, and plans to sneak out and attend a modernist exhibition. Belle smiled at the thought, and gasped when she flipped a few more pages and found a drawing.

“Rumford?” she tried to call out to him, but it came out as a whisper. “Dr– Mr Gold?”

“Yes? Belle?” his voice sounded from among the shelves somewhere.

“Rumford, where are you? You have to see this!” she whispered.

He appeared at her side, his eyes darting back and forth between the journal and her face in confusion. “What is it?”

“This journal– I think it… it's… nevermind, just  _ look!” _ she stammered, pointing a finger at the drawing.

“Oh my.” he blinked, pulling his frames out of his pocket. He nudged them up his nose and pulled the journal closer to get a better look.

“So you see it too, right?” she asked.

“Yes. It's…” he traced a finger along the lines of the illustration, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards into a little smirk. “Well, it's just like the engravings in your book.”

“What if… what if this journal belonged to the illustrator? All the entries, they're dated 1879, and there's no way  _ this _ just a coincidence, right?”

“Unlikely.” Rumford whispered. “Those plates are strange enough as it is.” He cleared his throat and spoke up. “Mr Cogsworth?” he hollered across the shop.

“Yes?”

“When was the last time you brought in new manuscripts?”

“Just last week.”

“You're kidding.” he said, feigning nonchalance. “From where?”

“Oh, just some estate sale in Alabama.”

“Mm… anything imported? Say from France, Germany?”

“Oh, yes. I bought a lot about two months ago.”

“About how many, would you say?”

“Oh,” he scoffed, “I  _ couldn't _ say. They should all be in there, though. Other than Civil War documents and the like, I'm afraid the manuscripts don't sell very well.”

Belle began shoveling journals out of the box, stacking them up neatly on top of an adjacent crate, and shot Rumford a pointed look. He nodded and began checking each of them, setting aside anything written in French.

“Is there something I can help you find?”

Belle opened her mouth to speak, but Rumford shook his head. “No, just curious, is all.”

In the end, Belle and Rumford had dug three journals out of the box that they agreed had to belong to the same person. They were all in French, the handwriting matched, and they each contained several more sketches with uncanny stylistic resemblances to the plates in her book.

“We'll take these three.” Belle said, setting them on the counter.

“Hm. Interesting selections…” Cogsworth murmured, picking them up one at a time to determine their value. “Makes me wonder why you chose them…” he said, arching a brow.

“Oh,” Rumford chuckled, “nothing in particu–”

“I'm learning French.” Belle cut in. “What better way to challenge oneself than by reading a journal, don't you think? All the nuance of informal language gets so…  _ lost _ in formal education, you know?”

Cogsworth narrowed his eyes at the both of them. “There's something you're not telling me.” He said, setting the book down. “What are these?”

Rumford scoffed. “Exactly what they look like. The private journals of a member of the French bourgeoisie.”

“Should be riveting,” Belle nodded. “I'm a sucker for cheap drama. You don't even wanna know how much reality TV I watch.”

“You know… perhaps I should take some time with these first.” Cogsworth said. “Who knows– they just might prove to be invaluable pieces of history.”

Belle snorted. “Could be. But what are the odds, you know?”

“I'm sure the person you bought them from already pilfered the good stuff for themselves, honestly.” Rumford pointed out.

“Hm. Well, I suppose you do have a point…” he mumbled.

“So uh, how much again?” Belle asked, fishing her wallet out of her purse.

“Fifty.” Cogsworth declared.  _ “...Each.” _

She finished plucking the some cash of her her wallet and looked up at him with her jaw halfway to the floor. “What!?”

“That's ridiculous!”

“Well, if they are  _ just _ journals, as you say… I completely understand why you might not think they're worth the price tag.”

“Five each.” Belle offered. “You said it yourself. None of your customers want to buy some random old diary written in French.”

“They’re primary sources from  _ fin de ciclé  _ Paris.”

“1879 isn't  _ fin de ciclé!” _ Belle snorted, rolling her eyes.

“Thirty.”

“Five each and not a cent more.” she insisted, leaning over the counter and narrowing her eyes at him.

“Alright. Fifty gets you all three.”

“That sounds fair,” Rumford chimed in, retrieving his wallet.

“Oh, no–” Belle said, holding up a finger in his face. “I'm not walking out of here until he gives me all three for fifteen dollars.”

“Belle, it's fine, honest, I can–”

“All due respect, Dr Gold, but this is about the  _ principle _ of the thing.”

Rumford scoffed and eased his shoulders, tucking his wallet away and taking a half step back.

Cogsworth huffed and glared at Rumford. “Well, if you're going to be  _ difficult _ about it, I suppose I can do–”

“What are you looking at me for?” he asked, furrowing his brows. “You’re negotiating with  _ her, _ not me!”

“You’re damn right he is.” Belle said, leaning further over the counter.

“...Thirty for the lot?” Cogsworth offered weakly.

She pulled the most intimidating scowl she could muster. He blinked owlishly and coughed, shrinking back.

“...Very well then, miss.” he mumbled. “...F-five each, was it?”

Belle smacked her dollar bills onto the counter top and smiled. “...Thank you.” she said sweetly.

Cogsworth quickly bagged their purchases and slid them across the counter. “A p-pleasure doing business with you, miss.” he stammered. “P-please c-come again sometime?”

“The pleasure–” she said, swiping the bag from him, “was all mine.”

  
  
  


*****

  
  
  


“So that was ah... impressive.” Rumford chuckled once they'd left Cogsworth's shop.

“That was so  _ exciting!” _ she beamed, bouncing on her toes. “No wonder you come here all the time! What else can we buy? I wanna do that again!”

“Oh. Well, I'm glad.” And how could he not smile back at her when she was looking at him like that?

“I mean, did you  _ see _ that!?” she asked. “He was all, ‘fifty each’ and I was like, 'nuh-uh! No way, pal!’”

Rumford nodded, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. “I did.”

Belle draped her arms over his shoulders and laced her fingers behind his neck. “I'm having so much fun…” she said, swaying from left to right.

“That's– that's good.”

Belle sighed. “You're so handsome and sweet.”

Rumford chuckled nervously. “You're very beautiful and… exhilarating.”

_ Stupid, _ he thought.  _ You should be kissing her, you fool. _

She kept looking up at him and nibbled her lip. “When I get back to Storybrooke, I'm gonna digitize and transcribe these journals…” she murmured deeply, like a seduction.

“That... sounds like a good plan.” he nodded.  _ Kiss her. _

“And then I can  _ send _ them to you…”

“Aye, I would appreciate that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and nibbled her lip. “How good is your French? Should I translate them for you?”

“Not as good as yours, I'd wager.  _...Miss French.” _

She bit back a grin and her eyes darted across his features. “You're funny.”

“And you're brilliant.”

She didn't seem to react at first, instead just pursing her lips.

_ Kiss her. Kiss her. Kiss her! _

“Hm… I have to pee!” she blurted.

Rumford scoffed and pulled away, feeling the now-familiar mixture of relief and disappointment for the seventh time today– only this time with more self-loathing.  _ Just bloody kiss her already! _

“We should do something about that. Here, come.” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the restrooms.

He relieved her of her bags and waited outside, his heart thumping jubilantly when she smiled over her shoulder at him before finally disappearing into the ladies’ room. In no time at all, a vendor selling flowers began approaching, and Rumford looked off in the distance, trying to avoid eye contact.

The vendor cleared his throat. “A rose for your  _ chérie?”  _ he asked in a painfully exaggerated French accent.

“Oh, no thank you.” Rumford said, blushing a little. “I'm fine.”

“OK, OK. Je comprends.” the man nodded and began to walk off, but then spun on his heels and came back. “Perhaps… some advice for you, amoureux?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Such as?”

“You like the girl, yes? She is the fire of your loins?”

Rumford scoffed in disbelief. “I-I–” he stammered.

“Do not be so shy, monsieur. I can tell. Way you look at her, way she look at you. I can see them, the sparks of a new love, non?”

“I… I think so. I-I mean it could be.”

“Ah! And I tell you I  _ know _ so! But I tell you also this– there is no better way to the heart of your  _ chérie _ than with–” he plucked a bloom from his bucket and handed it to him.  _ “...A single red rose.” _

Rumford looked at the flower that had been placed in his hand and frowned. “I'm sorry,” he said, trying to give it back to him, “I'm not really interested–”

“Shh, shh…” the man hushed, pushing it back. “It is gift. From me, to you and your lady love.” He winked and walked off before Rumford could say anything else.

He glanced around the market for a trash bin before scolding himself.  _ You can't just throw it out! How bloody rude would that be? The bastard's standing right there! _

A figure in yellow emerged from the bathrooms, and he swallowed hard. Nothing for it now.

Belle skipped over cheerfully, her blue eyes lighting up as soon as they landed on the rose. He cleared his throat and smiled.

“For me?” she asked, making that lemon-sucking face he stood a snowball's chance in hell against.

He cracked a lopsided smile and nodded. “I-if you'll have it.”

She beamed and took the stem from him, doing a little curtsey. “It's lovely.” she said, holding it up to her precious little nose and letting the petals brush over her lips as she inhaled deeply. “Thank you, Rumford.”

He dipped in a slight bow, feeling his face grow hot. As he stood upright again, Belle hesitated a moment, then leaned in to press a quick peck to his cheek.

_ Breathless. _ That was one word to describe the feeling in his chest. Positively breathless.

“I…” he mumbled.  _ Kiss her back! Kiss her back! Kiss her back, you bampot!  _

She raised her brows, waiting to hear what he had to say.

“Uh, h-here's your purse.” he blurted, holding it out to her.

“...Oh.” she blinked. “Yeah, thanks.”

_ Tosser. _ Stupid, bloody tosser. What the  _ hell _ was that!? You can tell her she's brilliant and bold and capable, touch her and whisper in her ear, for Christ's sake– but you can't just bloody  _ kiss _ the woman!?

“Your um… your flight is in a few hours, you said?” she asked, and Rumford's heart sank.

He cleared his throat, which had become unbearably dry. “Ah... yes.” he answered weakly.

“Well, I guess we should uh, head back then.” she said, fumbling her hands over her belly and shifting on her feet. “I um, wouldn't want you to have to rush or anything.”

“Right.” he nodded, his voice coming out as a whisper. “To the car, then.”

The ride back was a quiet one, absent of all the excitement and promise the morning had held. No conversation bubbled out of her now, Belle instead gazing out the window and watching all the buildings pass by. Occasionally she peeked at her phone and typed something. 

Telling her friend what a disappointment this day was, probably.

_ Eejit,  _ Rumford scolded himself.  _ You had your chance. Several chances. And you pissed every single one of them away. Coward. _

He pulled up to a parking meter in front of her hotel and looked at her with a wan smile.

“Thanks. For um, everything.” Belle said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “I um, I had a really good time.”

“Aye.” hr nodded automatically, ignoring the heaviness in his chest. “It was a pleasure.”

She clutched her purse and reached to open the door.

“Wait.” he blurted, quickly unfastening his seatbelt and swinging his door open. “Let me get that for you.”

“Oh. Oh, you don't have to–”

But he was already out of the car, the sound of the closing door cutting her off as he rushed to the passenger’s side. He flung the door open and offered his hand.

“I-I’ll see you in.”

She hesitated a moment before smiling and taking his hand. “Okay,” she said, hopping out of the car. 

They silently walked across the lobby to the elevators and pressed the lift button. While they waited, Rumford stared at the vase of flowers on the small table next to him and scowled.  _ Fake. _ Overdue for a dusting. The elevator doors opened, but they stepped aside to let a family with small children take the lift. Waited again. What was even the point of bloody fake flowers, anyway? The doors opened again, and this time, they offered the ride to a pair of hotel staff with absurdly large carts. Waited some more.

Belle slipped her phone out of her purse to check her texts, then tucked it away and cleared her throat. “Ruby's actually got everything packed already. She'll be down in a minute.”

Rumford's pulse pounded in his ears.  _ Last chance!  _ The voice in his head shouted.  _  Now or never!  _

“I…”

Belle looked up at him and tilted her head, waiting.

“I-I’d like to see you again.” he spit out before he could psych himself out for the dozenth time.

Belle bit back a smile and took his hand, gently entwining their fingers as she turned to face him. “...Me too.”

He let out a relieved sigh.  _ Thank God. _

“Perhaps…” he continued, “perhaps you could come visit the shop sometime?”

“Definitely.” Her grin widened and she nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I'd um, I'd really, really like that.”

“O-or I could visit Storybrooke.” he blurted. Why should she have to schlep to Syracuse? Surely he could go to Maine. She was the one with classes to finish up and a job with inflexible hours.

“Oh! Yeah, I mean, Ruby's grandma owns the inn in town. So she could like, you know.”

“Oh.”  _ How thoughtful of her. _ “Well, I-I’ve two guest suites at the house, if you… or I could give you some recommen–”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Staying at your place. That um, that sounds really nice.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe, um–” Her cheeks reddened and she looked away. “Maybe when I finish translating the journals, we could uh, go over them together? Like... in person, I mean.” she shrugged.

He smiled and nodded, the thundering of his pulse finally fading away. “I'd like that.”

“Me too.” she said tremulously and wet her lips.

He glanced around the lobby for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line. Cleared his throat.

_ This is it. Just do it. _

“B– Belle?”

She arched a brow. “Mhmm?”

“May I–” He cut himself off and scoffed uneasily. “May I ah… I mean, um, would  _ you. _ Would  _ you _ mind it if… well, if I were to– to k-kiss you?”

_ There. _ He said it. Now he just had to wait. 

  
  


*****

  
  


Belle blinked up at him with parted lips.

_ Would she mind it if he kissed her!? She'd only been thinking about it since one o'clock this morning! _

She nodded and toed closer to him, her hands already reaching out so they could run through his hair.  _ Oh yes. This was happening. _

He smiled and took half a step forward, gently cupping her elbows in each hand and drawing her closer. He hesitated a moment, his eyes darting across her features as if he wanted to make sure he'd remember them.

Belle did  _ not _ hesitate. She pounced up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. Hard.

Rumford let out a small grunt and stumbled backwards, and she stumbled forwards with him, her fingers finally combing and clutching through that beautiful, silken hair and pulling him closer. His lips were soft and perfect, but most importantly, they were touching  _ her _ lips.

He broke the kiss with a little chuckle as he found his balance, but then his hands slid around her waist, splaying over her back and pulling her in again.

She moaned softly at the sensation of his hands on her. It was all the invitation she needed to start climbing him like a tree. She pressed herself closer against him and parted her lips to deepen the kiss, and was not disappointed when she felt his tongue brush against her bottom lip.

Belle French was going to die. This Sunday, July twenty-third, two thousand seventeen. Cause of death: Sucking Dr Rumford Gold's face.

_ And what a way to go. _

She gave a pleasured moan and lunged forward for  _ more _ , causing him to stumble back again. They bumped into the side table, and the sound of their heavy breaths was interrupted by the wobbling of the vase atop it.

“Oh–” Rumford parted from her just enough to give her a panicked look, pulling one of his hands off of her and blindly reaching for the vase before it could topple over and crash onto the floor. He managed to steady it and let out a relieved chuckle, and she cut him off with another kiss.

His hand flew back to grip her side and Belle twirled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. He shuddered and gave an encouraging humming sound that made her whole body tingle. It was like licking a nine volt battery– If nine volt batteries were gorgeous, middle-aged personal property appraisers from Scotland and didn't have that gross metallic taste.

They pulled apart to catch their breath, both smiling and without a word, asking each other: _ ‘again?’ _

She nodded, and he nodded, and not a second later, their lips were pressed together again. This time he cupped her face, and she slid her hands down his chest, gripping at his shirt.

_ Gods yes, _ Belle French would die a happy woman. If she could get another taste of his tongue– a  _ very _ happy woman. She opened up for him again, an invitation, and–

_ “Somebody's shopping trip was a smashing success.” _

Belle and Rumford flinched and pulled apart, breathless as they spun around to follow Ruby's voice.

“Looks like you two are lost.” She snickered. “If you wanna get a room, the check-in is  _ that _ way.”

Belle wiped the dewiness from her lips with the back of her hand. “...Ruby. ...Hi.”

Rumford coughed and attempted to straighten the tie he’d forgotten he wasn't wearing today. “Miss Lucas.”

Ruby's eyes scanned up and down the pair of them. After a beat, she smacked her lips and pat her hand on the weekend bag draped over her shoulder. “We’re ready to go.” she said. “...At least,  _ I _ am.  _ You two _ look like you might need to book another night.” she teased.

Belle and Rumford turned to face each other again.

“O-oh. I-I have to be at the shop–” he stammered.

“I'm working tomorrow...” Belle mumbled, casting her eyes on the floor.

Ruby raised her brows and blinked at them for a moment. “...That was a joke, guys.”

“Oh!” Belle nodded and chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah.”

Rumford made a sound that was somewhere between a cough and a laugh. “Right. Of course.”

“We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, Belles. I'll go get the car and wait out front.” Ruby winked, darting her eyes between the two of them. “It was nice to meet you, Dr Gold!” She sang over her shoulder at him as she walked away.

Belle took his hand again. “I'll um, I'll translate those journals and uh, call you.”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Please.”

“Actually, let me text you so you um...have my number.”

“Right.”

_ Dr Rumford Gold was going to have her number. _

She pulled out her phone and tapped a quick  _ “Hi.” _ She hesitated and erased it, instead typing, “Thank you for showing me such a lovely time,” and sealing it with an emoji kiss.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and Belle waited eagerly as he took it out and read her message. A smile and a blush both bloomed across his face the longer he stared at it. 

“Thank you. Belle.”

She shifted on her feet, wringing her hands over her belly before reaching up on her toes and pecking him on the cheek again. He gave her one last timid, dimpled smile and took her hand. Just like the night before, he brushed lips against her knuckles, and Belle let out a contented sigh.

_ He was amazing. _

“I um… I guess this is uh...” she stammered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Goodbye?”

She nodded and smoothed out her dress. “Yeah, but um– I'll see you again, though.” she said, trying her best not to phrase it like a question. “Soon.”

Rumford nodded. “I look forward to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on this are gonna slow down (even more) again because I have some one-shots I want to wrap up and I plan on participating in RSS again this year. :*


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumford basks in the after-glow of his date with Belle. Back in Storybrooke, Belle has lunch with her father, who's curious to know how her trip to Boston went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a stitch chapter, so not much plot to speak of. Just got back from vacation in Vienna and wanted to get something posted since it’s been forever. TMI’s here - [[x](http://ifishouldvanish.tumblr.com/tagged/tmi:%20bh9)].

Ruby hit send and glanced up from her phone's screen once she noticed Belle and Rumford step outside of the hotel. He was resting his hand on her lower back as they walked, and the two of them were too busy gazing and smiling at each other to pay the world around them any mind. Someone bumped Rumford's shoulder, and he didn't seem to notice. A second later, someone else bumped into Belle and she only stumbled closer to him. She blushed, and he smiled, and  _ she _ smiled, and he smiled even more. He then pointed out the small steps that lead to the sidewalk and took her hand, carefully guiding her down each one like a god damned boy scout helping an old lady cross the street– only he couldn't take his eyes off of her and wound up stumbling a little himself.

“Jesus Christ.” Ruby muttered to herself as she watched the whole thing. “That’s fucking adorable.”

Rumford looked up, eyes panning the street as he searched for the car, and Belle pointed happily in Ruby's direction where she sat in the loudly idling Mustang. He made a surprised face, and Belle nodded, and he smiled. Again.

Ruby was pretty sure she'd never seen two people smile so damned much.

He opened the door for her and helped her into the passenger seat, but not without Belle hesitating and pressing a kiss to his cheek first– which made him blush profusely, of course. They exchanged about two dozen variations of  _ 'thank you’, ‘I had a lovely time’ _ and ‘ _ have a safe trip _ ’ before Ruby had to cut them off and pull out into the road already.

Belle's head turned as they drove off– her gaze fixed on Rumford's rear as he turned back and headed for his rental car. Ruby felt a  _ little _ bad, but there was no way in hell she was going to get suck in Boston traffic on the way home, and the window for the optimal departure time was closing fast.

“So… that looked like one hell of a kiss.” Ruby teased. “Didn't think you kids had it in you.”

“Oh.” Belle coughed and tore her eyes off of his arse, opting instead to stare blankly at the windshield. “Well, he was um. H-he's a good kisser?” she stammered.

Ruby watched the blush rise to her cheeks and grinned with amusement. “...Uh-huh.”

“W-we shared ice cream.” Belle said.

“Right…” She noticed the shopping bag at Belle's feet and pointed at the red rose poking out of it. “So, whatcha got there?”

Belle blinked out of her trance and gasped. “Oh! Ruby, you're not going to believe this!” The plastic bag rustled as Belle dug through it and pulled out three notebooks. They looked to be falling apart, and Ruby knit her brows as she watched her hastily flip through the pages of one of them. “We think whoever these journals belonged to, they must have been the  _ same person _ who illustrated  _ Her Handsome Hero!”  _ Belle said. _ “Look!” _

Ruby pulled up to a red light and took a moment to look at the drawing Belle had opened the journal up to. She might not have been a connoisseur of the arts by any stretch, but the resemblance was certainly undeniable. “Holy shit, that  _ is _ cool.”

“I'm gonna translate these and see if they say anything useful, and share my findings with Rumford!” she bubbled excitedly, the smile on her face the widest Ruby had ever seen. 

“My precious little nerd...” Ruby smiled. “I was actually talking about  _ that  _ though,” she said, pointing at the rose.

“Oh!” Belle giggled and put the journals away, plucking the rose out of the bag instead. She held it up to her nose and closed her eyes, giving it a long, indulgent sniff. “...It's from  _ Rumford.” _ she sighed wistfully.

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Ruby snorted. “But I mean, how'd he go about it? Set the scene for me, Belles. Take me there.”

Belle gasped and pressed her lips together as if struggling to keep a secret, then glanced over her shoulder and leaned in closely as if to share one. “After we found those books, I had to pee.” she said. “And when I got back from the bathroom, he was waiting for me with it? And I was like, ‘is that for me?’ and he was like–” she paused and lidded her eyes, deepening her voice.  _ “...If you'll have it. _ ”

“Nice!” Ruby nodded and hiked her brows. It was kind of a miracle either of them could stand within ten feet of each other without exploding, after all.

“So of course I accepted it! And I said thank you, and I kissed his cheek… and just...” Belle trailed off and looked down at the rose, rolling its stem between her fingers. “...He's perfect.”

Ruby scoffed.

Belle snapped up and turned to face her again. “I mean I  _ knew _ he was perfect, but he's even more perfect than I thought which shouldn't even be possible? But he just– he  _ raised the bar _ for the standard of perfection. ...Like, you know how the ancient Greeks believed man was the measure of all things?”

The light turned green and Ruby pulled forward.  _ “Not really, _ but go on.”

“Well, Rumford is the standard by which all other men in my life are measured.”

“...Gotcha.” she said. “You know, us lay folk call 'em life ruiners.”

Belle pouted her lips and tilted her head, weighing the term. “But he’s  _ not _ ruining my life. He's…” she threw her head back and sighed, “...bringing  _ magic _ into it.”

“Well, I'm glad,” Ruby laughed, then slammed on the brakes as someone cut her off. “Asshole!” she muttered, flipping them the bird.

“Anyway, enough about me!” Belle said. “Tell me about Dorothy– Miss  _ I-Spent-The-Night-In-Her-Hotel-Room…” _ she teased, wiggling her brows.

The scowl on Ruby's face curled into a smile. “Oh, it wasn't a big deal, really…” she mumbled despite the warmth she was already feeling in her cheeks. “I told you– She got kinda drunk, so I drove her back to her hotel… walked up to the room with her... I kept her company for a bit, and then we put some cheesy sci-fi movie on on Netflix and made fun of it.”

She and Dorothy had each other in stitches last night, providing their own silly commentary on how quickly and predictably the heroine fell for the cliche macho protagonist, the  _ deus ex machina _ that was introduced at the last minute to save the day, and how much better the whole thing would have been if they’d just made the heroine gay– because there was no other explanation for the way she looked at the brunette scientist who was introduced in the second act.

“Mhmm…” Belle smiled, nodding along as she listened.

“Anyway.” Ruby shook her head. “There might have been some light cuddling… and then we passed out.”

There was a stretch of silence before Belle finally asked, “...And?” 

Ruby paused to check her mirrors before switching lanes, glad to have the excuse of driving so she could avoid eye contact. She didn't get smiley and goofy after the first date. That was for dorks, and she was cooler than that. “And  _ what?” _

“That's it?”

“Hmm…yeah, pretty much.” she shrugged.

“Pretty much?”

_ “...Yup.” _ Ruby nodded and cleared her throat. It wasn't untrue. That really  _ was _ all that had happened last night. But what no one needed to know was  _ how much _ she enjoyed the cuddling, and that there actually had been a kiss this  _ morning. _

Belle was already onto her, though.

“Actually, at one point, she  _ did _ start showing me pictures of her dog.” Ruby said, changing the subject.

Belle's expression melted in an instant. “Aww! What kind!?”

Ruby huffed out a relieved little laugh. “Rough Collie?”

“Oh my God!” Belle gasped. “Those are _so_ _floofy!”_

“Yeah, the dog has nicer hair than I do.”

“What's his name?  _ Please _ tell me it's Toto or Lassie!”

“Those were  _ my _ first guesses too!” Ruby said. “But  _ her _ name is Marlene.” 

Belle frowned. “That's an unusual name for a dog.”

“She’s named after the late great Marlene Dietrich, who was like,  _ super _ gay.” Ruby chuckled.

Belle sputtered a laugh and shook her head. “Okay, but like, did you guys… you know...”

Ruby glanced over her shoulder and moved over another lane. “Did we what?”

“Oh come on, Ruby! You know what I mean!”

“Nope. No idea.”

“Fine.” Belle huffed and rolled her eyes. “...Was there a kiss?”

“A  _ kiss?” _ she asked, her nonchalant tone betrayed by the smirk on her face. “Oh, yeah. Kiss, yeah.”

Belle groaned in frustration and she laughed.

“We kissed this morning before I left. It was… nice.”

“Nice?”

“Well, what do you want me to say!?” Ruby snapped. “Wasn't anything like your steamy, semi-public  _ make out–  _ it was just a nice, simple, first date kiss!” she said, cringing at how fast and high-pitched her voice had suddenly become. 

“So there's gonna be a second date, you think?”

“I don't know!” she cried and threw a hand up on the air. That all depended on how Dorothy would respond to the text she'd just sent, but Ruby was feeling pretty good about it. Mostly. “...Maybe?”

Belle drew a deep gasp. “Oh, you  _ like her...” _

“Well,  _ duh. _ ” Ruby huffed and tried to stay focused on the road. “I wouldn't have asked her out if I wasn’t interested, you  _ nut.” _

“Yeah, but–” Belle giggled, “you  _ really _ like her.”

“So?” She said, staring a hole into the car in front of them.

“Nothing. I just think you guys were cute last night.”

Ruby slouched in her seat, making herself small. “Yeah well– you and Rumford should just like... Shut up and get married already, because that's how stupid and cute  _ you _ are.” she shot back bitterly, as if it were an insult.

“Aw…” Belle smiled. “You think we're stupid and cute?”

“Ugh. Yeah. It's gross.” Ruby muttered, trying to keep a straight face. “Just watching him walk you the car, I almost lost my lunch.”

There was a sudden buzzing sound from the dashboard, and Belle beat Ruby to her phone.

“No texting while driving, Rubes.” she teased, holding it out of her reach. “Good thing you have your best friend in the  _ whole _ world here to check your messages for you though,  _ right?” _

Ruby huffed and rolled her eyes. “Okay.  _ Fine. _ What does it say?”

_ “It's from Dorothy…” _ she sing-songed and wiggled her brows. “She says, ‘sounds good. See you there.’ With a popcorn emoji, the um… upside-down smiley face... and sparkles!”

A smile crept across Ruby's face. Dorothy lived in Portland, and so there was no reason they couldn't see each other again. And again. And well–  _ actually date. _

“You're gonna see a movie together!?” Belle asked. “What movie!?”

“I dunno… one of the theaters in Portland does screenings of classic movies on Thursdays or something.”

“Aw… She's a movie buff, isn't she?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ruby mumbled.

_ But oh, she was. _ She totally was. Ruby left the hotel this morning with a list of movie recommendations a mile long. Dorothy had been pretty reserved while they were at the bar, but once they'd started scrolling through Netflix, she was chattering away about her favorite actors, her favorite directors, how amazing the script for one film was, and how incredible the cinematography was in another. She'd called about a dozen films “her favorite movie of all time” and if it were possible, Ruby would have gladly stayed in that hotel room for two weeks straight, cuddled up next to Dorothy while they watched and rewatched every single one of them.

“Okay,” Ruby said. “Text her back… ‘Can't wait,’ with um…”

“A winky face?”

“No… the one that's like, smirking?”

Belle clicked her tongue. “Got it.”

“And sparkles.”

“Sparkles.”

  
  
  
  


*****

  
  
  


Neal tilted his head and squinted as they finished the trek across the airport parking lot, and Rumford couldn't tell if he was staring at him or if the sun was just in his eyes.

“You seem… different.”

_ Ah. _ Staring, then.

“Well, I suppose I do  _ feel _ different.” Rumford said.

That was an understatement. Two days ago, he'd kissed Belle French– he practically felt like a new man. A better man. He still put his trousers on one leg at a time, of course– but he stood a little taller, chose his tie with a little more pride in the morning, preened in the mirror a little longer. The fact that he was at the airport for the second time in two days? Couldn't bring himself to mind.

“You're… I don't know. More relaxed. Loose in the joints. You got like… a swagger to ya.” Neal said, hoisting up his luggage and hauling it in the trunk of the Cadillac. He drew a sudden breath and spun around, clasping his hand over his mouth. “Oh my God–  _ You totally got laid.” _

Rumford waited for him to step aside so he could close the trunk with a satisfying  _ click. _ “Got what, now?”

“You did the do with that lady!” Neal laughed, walking over to the passenger door.  _ “Oh my God, _ that's gross, Pop! I mean, I'm happy for you– but  _ gross.” _

A smile crept across Rumford's face as he headed for the driver's side. “If by 'did the do’ you mean, ‘spent a lovely afternoon antiquing together’ then yes. I'm afraid we  _ did it _ all day long, son.”

Neal narrowed his eyes at him for a moment and climbed into the car with a sigh. “Why am I not surprised?”

“What?” Rumford asked, following suit.

Neal fastened his seatbelt and turned to face him. “You still at least kissed her though, right?”

“Yes. We ah...  _ kissed. _ On the lips.”

“Like a kiss, or a  _ kiss?” _

Rumford stopped fastening his seatbelt and froze. “Ah…”

Was there an appropriate way to say,  _ we started to make out in the hotel lobby and almost knocked the décor over amidst the heat of our passion? _

“It was… thorough.” he said, starting the car and cranking up the air conditioning. Took a moment to loosen his tie. Tug his collar.

_ “...Thorough?” _ Neal scowled and turned all the air vents away from him, wrapping his arms around himself. “Let's pretend I didn't ask and you didn't just say that.”

Rumford coughed and gripped his hands on the wheel.  _ Yes. _ They would pretend he never said that. His boy always  _ did _ have a good head on his shoulders. 

“So, like… is she your girlfriend now?” he asked.

“I– I don't know.”

“What do you mean, you don't know?”

“I mean I don't know! We didn't… discuss that.”

“You are  _ really _ bad at this.” Neal said. “Like, astoundingly bad.”

Rumford huffed and let that roll off his shoulders. Things with Belle had felt so easy, so natural– Once he got past his rampant anxiety and self-doubt, at least. And even when he  _ had _ been reduced to a stammering, blundering mess, she still smiled and invited him out. For all his worry, they'd had a wonderful time together. He'd made her blush and laugh, and she'd said he was cute and called him her favorite. Twice.

They'd see each other again. Belle sounded quite sure of that, and in retrospect, he was starting to feel it too.

“Well, I think this woman might beg to differ.” Rumford said, a smug little grin tugging his lips. “You know, perhaps your father isn't as hopeless as you think.”

Neal gave him a sidelong look.

“All I'm saying– and  _ will _ say– is that she gave me every indication that she enjoyed herself and would like for us to see each other again sometime. Sooner rather than later.”

“...Uh-huh.” Neal slumped in his seat and fished his phone out of his pocket. “Well, you better not screw this up, 'cause I want a chance to meet this woman,” he laughed. “I mean, she's gotta be like, the _biggest_ _nerd_ to see you talking about musty old books and fancy vases and think, ‘Look at that fine hunk o’ man right there... _Mm!_ I wouldn't mind gettin’ myself a piece of _that.’”_

Rumford scoffed, and he raised his chin a little at the realization that that  _ had _ been what happened– more or less. Belle could have easily charmed any one of the dozens of appraisers on the show. But she'd chosen _ him.  _ Looked at him and thought, 'Yes, I want  _ that _ one.’

The notion made him feel downright giddy, and the tingle he'd felt in his chest after their appraisal, after their chat when she'd invited him out, after their walk together, all bubbled inside him anew. Yes, yes. He very much felt like a new man indeed.

“You know–” Rumford stretched his arm behind the passenger seat and looked over his shoulder as he began backing out of the parking spot. “A good verbal appraisal can be... an incredibly erotic experience, Neal.”

Neal stopped swiping on his phone and looked up at his father in mortification. _ “...What?” _

“I'm talking about someone showing you something that's terribly personal to them, and for you to understand it better than they do,” Rumford explained coolly, putting the car back in gear and squaring his shoulders. “To teach a perfect stranger something about themselves and their past through their possessions… To inform them that something of theirs is priceless. Valuable.  _...Desirable _ . You can tell a great deal about someone by the things they hold onto, you know? When you appraise these things, it can be… not unlike a seduction. You bare one's soul to them, and well– if the conditions are right– reveal your own in the process.”

Neal wrinkled his nose and scowled at him. “Pop, what the  _ hell _ are you talking about?”

_ A good question, _ Rumford thought. What the hell  _ was _ he talking about?

_ Ah, yes. _

The sultry look in Belle's eyes while he told her about the trends in book cover design during the late nineteenth century. The look of open lust they shared as he described the defining characteristics of the illustrations in her book. For, surely, that had been the dizzying sensation he felt– the magnetic pull of animal attraction between two strangers. So visceral, so raw. At the time, he'd trembled in the face of it all– a meek, innocent bairn. But now? After that kiss? He was a man experienced in all the ways of desire.  _ Touched _ by the hedonistic thrill of completely losing oneself in another without any intention of ever being found.

“...Pop?”

Rumford shook his head and cleared his throat, finally meeting his son's baffled gaze. “You’ll understand when you're older, son. Now get my wallet out so I can pay for the parking.”

Neal blinked. “O-kay…”

The rest of the ride home consisted of an account of all the things Rumford had bought for the shop while he was at the market with Belle, several impersonations of the other passengers on Neal's flight, and the customary stilted conversation about Milah and her latest beau. In the time it took to get home, Rumford only had to remind his son to watch his language twice, which was...  _ progress, _ and he didn't even have to remind him to wipe his shoes on the mat before stepping inside the house.

“Dude. It's  _ clean _ in here.” Neal observed as he stepped into the foyer. 

Rumford struggled to pull the keys out of the lock for a moment. “Oh.”

_ Yes, that. _

The second he'd gotten home Sunday evening, he’d turned his study upside-down, gathering all of his sources on  _ Les Reines des Ténèbres, _ making copies, and stuffing them into an envelope addressed to the Storybrooke Public Library– though not without adding a few personal touches like a handwritten note, of course.

But once that was ready for the post, Rumford found himself in a  _ mood _ . Or perhaps more accurately, a  _ panic. _ He didn't know how soon to expect a call to arrange a visit from Belle, but the mere thought of her seeing the sorry state he lived in was enough for him to start cleaning. The bar for what qualified all his trinkets as “worth holding onto” had raised enough that in an hour, he had three boxes full of junk to throw out– or rather, three boxes full of possible inventory to put in the capable care of Miss Halloran. She'd packed the van up with glee late last night, thanking him enough times that he actually started to believe he was paying her a kindness, and not just dumping all his shite onto her lap so he could wipe his hands of it all.

A good employee, Miss Halloran. He'd have to give her a raise.

“Aye, well, you know… just tidying a bit.”

“A bit?” Neal asked skeptically, poking his head into the next room. “Where'd all that shit in the living room go?”

“Oh, some went in the shop, some in the storage unit.” Rumford dismissed. “...And how many times do I have to tell you to watch your mouth?”

“Sorry.” Neal sighed. “But for real, Pop– The place looks nice.”

“Y-you think?”

_ Thank God. _

“Yeah, I mean… you even got rid of all those busted watches on the dining room table.”

“Well, ye know.” He mumbled, beginning to feel embarrassed by his own enthusiasm. “M-Miss Halloran took those. She has more time for them than I do, I'm afraid.”

“Huh.” Neal looked at him again, the same way Rumford himself might look at a piece of mid-century modern furniture.

Was never a fan.

“And all this has nothing to do with this lady you're totally dating?”

“She might be visiting some time in the coming weeks, yes.” he answered casually, smoothing out his tie and uselessly prodding at his pocket square.

“...Right.” Neal said. “Well, let me know when, so I can make plans to be as far away from this house as possible that night.”

Rumford clicked his tongue and scoffed. “We'll just be going over some translations, son.”

That was a lie. He had every intention of sweeping Belle off her feet. Wooing her with… whatever the hell it was that had convinced her to ask him on a second date. Demonstrating to her how remarkable he found her. Kissing her again. Yes, yes. Another kiss. That would be good.

Neal arched a brow at him. “Going over some translations? Is that what you academics call it?” he said, and Rumford blanched.

_ The nerve! _ The impudence! Where had he gone so wrong as a parent to deserve a son so saucy as this!? 

_ Milah. _ Clearly her doing. After all, she's the one who had convinced him to try pot when they were in grad school.  _ You're too high-strung,  _ she'd told him. _ You need to relax. _

All lies, of course. The devil at work. And Heaven knew what sort of corruption she was up to now.

“Dude, you're  _ totally _ gonna make her dinner.” Neal teased.

Rumford rolled his eyes. “Well, of  _ course _ I'll make her dinner!”

His aunties always taught him that the notion that it was exclusively a woman's place to slave over a hot meal for a man was misogynist propaganda put forth by the white patriarchy, and that the fastest way to  _ anyone's _ heart was through their stomach. Considering how delighted she was by the food selection at the flea market, Belle seemed to be no exception.

“Are you gonna light  _ candles?” _ Neal asked.

Rumford huffed and ushered him up the stairs.  _ Should he?  _ “Go... unpack your things!”

Neal laughed his way upstairs with his luggage. “You should put on some jazz records too!” he shouted.

“I-I-I–” Rumford stammered.  _ Coltrane? Ellington? _ “...Maybe I will!”

Neal's footsteps slowed to a stop as he reached his bedroom _ ,  _ followed by the soft and distant (though very distinct) sound of him flopping heavily onto his bed. Rumford spun on his heels and started toward the liquor cabinet. He needed a drink. 

You know,  _ to relax. _ Was starting to feel terribly high-strung. A neat scotch would do nicely. He readied a glass and brought it to his lips, but the sound of footsteps returned.

“...Hey.” Neal called softly from the landing. “Dad?”

Rumford spun back around with a smile and returned to the stairs. Here it was– For all his sassy remarks, Neal was still  _ his _ boy, after all. Still had the grace to apologize. Admit his wrongs. Do his father proud.

“What is it, son?”

Neal snorted, and Rumford immediately closed his eyes, resigning himself to his fate. “Do you let her call you Rumford,” he laughed,  _ “...or Barbara?” _

Rumford snapped a finger at him. “You're grounded.”

“What!? You can't  _ ground _ me!” Neal whined.

Rumford pressed his lips into a thin line and narrowed his eyes at him.

“...Yeah okay, maybe you still can,” Neal mumbled, retreating back up the stairs.

Rumford opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a vibration in his pocket. He slid his phone out as it continued to ring and checked the screen.  _ David. _

His eyes darted back and forth between the phone and his moping son for a moment until he finally let out a sigh.  _ “Neal?” _

He stopped his trek up the stairs and spun around. “Yeah?”

“You're no’ bloody  _ grounded,” _ Rumford said. “Just– Know when to give your old man a break sometimes, aye?”

Neal smiled and happily continued up the stairs, and so Rumford returned to his scotch and took his call.

“...David.” he answered.

“Hey, bud!” David greeted warmly. “What's up?”

Rumford blinked owlishly. _ Bud.  _ They were  _ buds. _

“David.” he said again. “Uh… H-how are you? Mary Margaret? Emma?” But why was he asking all the questions? David was the one who'd called  _ him. _

“Good, good. Look–” David said, “I just wanted to give you a call and see how your uh, date went.”

_ Ah, _ there it was.

Date. Date. Date.

_ “Yes. _ Yes, it ah… went well. Went well.”

"Good! That's great!” David said, and he actually sounded like he meant it. Like he was happy for him and like he actually enjoyed talking on the phone.

Incredible. 

“It was  _ two dates, _ actually.” Rumford corrected him. Not because he was boasting about having gone on two dates with the most stunning woman he'd ever laid eyes on– no, no– but because it was important to keep the facts straight and omit nothing. Old habits died hard, and such was the life of the personal property appraiser.

So, two dates with Belle French.

Not one.

But _ Two. _

Dates.

With Belle French.

“Oh, wow! Really?” David asked.

_ ‘Really?’ _ Rumford thought bitterly. What the hell was he implying with that incredulousness?

“We went to the flea market Sunday.” he added, a little more defensively than he intended to. “Spent the day there.”

“That must have been nice, man. I  _ told _ you you could do it!”

Rumford opened his mouth to speak, but realized he didn't know what to say to that. Admit to his friend–  _ his bud– _ that he had been right all along? That all his panic and worry had been for nothing?

_ Over his dead body. _

“So…” David said, “anything happen? Any spark--”

“Yes.”

Silence.

“Kiss, I mean.” Rumford blurted, clearing his throat and leaning against the liquid cabinet. “There was a–” he bumped into the decanter, sending it teetering over the edge– and his heart nearly leapt out of his throat as the image of his aged scotch spilling onto his prized Bakhtiari rug flashed before his eyes.

He caught the decanter mid fall and felt his soul return to his body.

“There was a kiss.” Rumford finished breathily, his heart still pounding in his chest from the crisis he'd just narrowly averted.

“A kiss…” David baited.

He took a deep breath. “Aye.”

“Well, do you think you'll see her again?”

“Oh, I hope so.” he answered right away, and a smile tugged at his lips.

“Hey– Some enthusiasm!” David said. “I like it!”

“She's brilliant.” Rumford said, smiling fondly at the decanter.

“Yeah? What's she like?” David asked.

“The first day of spring.” he said, the words leaping out of his mouth.

_ “Oh. _ That's… nice.”

“The first bit of warmth you feel when you step outside on a clear day.” Rumford continued. “She is the  _ sun, _ David. She is the sun, and I am the first bloom of spring– ready and eager for the sustenance she provides with her smile, her laughter.”

“Wow. That's… that's really beautiful, Rum.”

“And yet–” he began running a finger over the lotus inlay on the surface of his liquor cabinet, “she is the flower, and I am the bee.”

“Oh.” David stammered. “Well, okay.”

“Sweet. Luring. Tempting. Vibrant to the eye. Soft to the touch...” Rumford took a sip of his scotch and sighed.

The way she nibbled her lip, the way she walked so gracefully in those impossible heels. The seductive manner in which she had eaten that churro. And had her voice been not unlike that of a siren while she described the symptoms of disease in plant life? Yes, yes– Belle French was desire itself. Sensuality personified. 

“...You still there, bud?”

Rumford coughed into his glass. “What now?”

“Nothing, nothing. Was just starting to think thought I lost you there,” David chuckled awkwardly. “But I'm glad things worked out for you, man.”

“Aye. They did. Thank you.” he said, quickly grabbing his glass and downing the rest of his scotch.

“Anyway… how's Neal?”

“Oh, wonderful, wonderful…” Rumford smiled. “As sarcastic as ever.”

  
  
  


*****

  
  
  


It was day three since the single greatest moment of Belle's life: meeting Dr Gold. She'd gone on not one date with him, but two. Gotten to know him.  _ Kissed him  _ (thoroughly!). Made plans to make plans to see him again. She hadn’t gotten any calls or texts from Rumford yet, but that was probably just because he was really busy. Perhaps she could call him saturday night after his show in Richmond and they could talk about how her translations on those journals were coming along, what he appraised at the show, or what each other are wearing and what they might do if they were together– like have tea and read poetry.

It was like the start of her very own romance novel.

_ Oh! _ How she'd been replaying their kiss in her mind every waking (and not waking) moment. It had been pure magic. Clearly, her and Rumford were just meant to be. Soon, she'd be introducing him to her father and figuring out what to get him for Christmas. Or maybe he didn't celebrate Christmas. Maybe he was Jewish.  _ Was he Jewish? _

It was a loud  _ smack! _ that finally pulled Belle out of her thoughts. She startled, her heart pounding in her chest, and noticed the large tome that had fallen face down on the display she was setting up on the front table. She reached to pick it up with a sigh, knocking over another book in the process. _ Smack! _

Her phone began buzzing rhythmically, inching across the table with each pulse of vibration. She swiped it up and checked the screen.

_ Reminder - Lunch with Dad. _

“Oh!” Belle gasped and rushed to right her two fallen books, then scurried into the back room to grab her purse.

Papa was already waiting for her when she arrived at Granny's, as were their usual Coke and iced tea. Ruby didn't hesitate to strut over to their table, the smile on her face a little too eager. Her father would be asking her all about Boston today, and Ruby had bet her twenty bucks that it would be a disaster.

“Belle, Mr French-- _ Always a pleasure.” _ Ruby greeted with a nod, readying her notepad and flashing a shark-like smile. “What'll it be?”

Belle's father looked up from his menu with a quick, polite smile. “I'll have a cheeseburger. Medium rare–”

_ “Papa…” _ Belle shot her father a chastising glare across the table and Ruby stopped scribbling on her notepad. “The doctor said–”

“I know what the doctor said!” Moe grumbled, rolling his eyes. “God, what's the point of living longer if I can't… live a little!”

Belle opened her mouth to protest, but only sighed instead.

“He's got a point.” Ruby chimed in.

“Thank you.” Moe said with a vindicated smile. 

“Fine.” Belle said, glaring at Ruby before reaching across the table to take her father's hand. “Just… promise me you'll be good the rest of the week?”

He returned a pained expression and sighed. “I promise.”

Belle narrowed her eyes at him. “I mean it, papa. No fast food for lunch.”

“I promise!” he said, throwing his arms up.

“We can go to the store tonight and get you some things so you can pack your lunches.” she suggested. “Pick up some turkey, some whole grain bread. Lettuce, tomato…”

“Needs bacon and swiss.” Ruby added.

“Or provolone.”

“No!” Belle huffed, holding up a finger at the both of them. “No bacon! And you need to watch your dairy!”

Ruby shrugged and looked at Moe. “I tried.”

He gave her a tight-lipped smile and handed her his menu. “Cheeseburger. Medium rare. …With bacon.”

“You got it, Mr French.” she winked, jotting it down and turning to Belle.

Belle's eyes skimmed the menu over and over, repeatedly drifting back to the word  _ cheeseburger.  _ But she couldn't order a cheeseburger now. No, no.

“I’ll um, have… the uh…”

_ Salad. _ If she wanted her father to start eating right, she was going to have to lead by example. Normalize healthy choices. The Caesar salad was good, she thought. But wasn't the dressing so fattening as to defeat the purpose? Dammit. Dammit. “The um… the grilled chicken and avocado salad.” she said before she could change her mind.

Ruby scowled and wrinkled her nose.

Her father reeled back in offense.  _ “Grilled chicken and avocado salad!?” _

Belle threw her hands over her face and groaned. “Excuse me for trying to set a better example!” she cried. “You think I don't want a cheeseburger!? Cause I'd  _ love _ a cheeseburger!” she shouted. “But I try to eat healthier around  _ you _ so you don't feel left out eating a  _ turkey _ sandwich while I sit across from you and wolf down a double cheeseburger with  _ extra _ cheese and  _ extra _ bacon and  _ extra _ everything!”

Ruby and her father blinked owlishly at her as she huffed and puffed, recovering from her outburst.

“Princess.” Moe said. “If you want a cheeseburger, just order the damn cheeseburger.”

_ Just order the damn cheeseburger? Just order the damn cheeseburger!? And ‘princess!?’ _

“Fine!” she said. “Then I will! With fries!  _ Extra _ fries! And I want bacon on mine too! And throw in an order of onion rings while you're at it!”

Ruby fought back a snicker and scribbled her order down. “I'll have that right out for you guys,” she grinned, plucking the menu from Belle's hands and strutting back to the kitchen.

“So… how was Boston?” her father asked. 

Belle took a large sip of her iced tea and nodded as she slowly set it back down. “It was um… It was good.”

“Good...” he repeated, not sounding too satisfied with her response. “So you got to see that... fella you're always on about?”

She took another swig. “Mhm!” 

Moe frowned and drummed his fingers on the table. “Well, is that it? I thought I'd be hearing about it for a month, is all.” he chuckled rather stiffly.

“Well…” Belle glanced down at the condensation puddling around her glass, blushing and smiling despite herself.

_ We flirted with each other on national television and I invited him out for drinks and proceeded to drunkenly come onto him and maybe sort of made out with him the next day. _

She cleared her throat. “He um, said Mama's book could be worth a small fortune.”

“I see…” Moe nodded along, bringing his Coke up to his lips and taking a long sip.

“And um, well, he was really sweet and charming and I um… or  _ he _ um– well, I'm not really sure who actually asked who but uh… We went on a date afterwards!” She blurted gleefully.

“You wha–” her father gasped and began choking on his drink.

“Oh– Papa!” Belle climbed halfway out of her seat before he gestured for her to sit back down.

“Fine.” he coughed into his fist. “M’fine!”

“Are you sure you're alright?”

He nodded and took a moment to finish his coughing fit. “Fine, princess.”

“O-okay…” she said, finally easing back into her seat. Was feeling a little too tense to roll her eyes at the _ princess  _ this time.

“I-I'm sorry–” Moe stammered, “a-a-a  _ date, _ you said?”

“Yes…” she answered simply, stirring her straw with intense focus.

“Now, when you say a date–”

“We went to a bar and had a few drinks.” she shrugged, trying to make it sound like it wasn't a big deal. To make a molehill out of what he was definitely trying to make into a mountain. Perhaps they'd cancel out into a… modest hill. A  _ hillock. _

It was close enough to the truth, at least. Papa didn't need to know the part about how she got drunk before Rumford had even shown up and all the… advances she made.

“Right.” he said.

“H-he was a perfect gentleman,” she rushed to assure him, catching herself and shoving her glass away. “And Ruby was there the whole time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We um… well, we had really good time and we went to the flea market Sunday for like… another.” she said. “Date, I mean. A-another date. Oh papa, it was amazing!” Belle blurted, and clamped a hand over her mouth.

_ Gosh, darn it. _ She could never temper her excitement around her favorite topics: books, Rumford, puppies, and food. In that order.

Moe pursed his lips. “How old is this man again?”

“Oh. Uh…” Belle looked down at her lap and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I mean, he can't be a day over forty… seven… ish?” she mumbled. “...Fifty, maybe? ...Tops fifty, definitely.” She nodded.

Moe leaned forward and blinked. “Fifty!?”

“I said not a day  _ older! _ He could be...  forty-two?”

“So you don't know?”

“Not exactly… but you know what Mama would say,” she chuckled uncomfortably, “...age is just a number?”

Moe shook his head. “I don't like the sound of my little girl going on a date with some man from TV who's old enough to be her father.”

“Oh, now papa,” Belle snorted and rolled her eyes. “He's not  _ that _ old...”

He scoot forward in his seat and tapped a finger on the table. “You know, it's just that these men, they probably show a good time to a new girl in every city.”

She sank into her seat a little. “He’s not like that–”

He glanced furtively around the diner and whispered, “I just hope you didn't give him what he was really after, Belle.”

_ “Papa!” _

“Look, I get it. You have a little... crush on the man, but you're not getting any younger, Belle. You can't keep wasting your time mooning over some TV man like that when, well... you and Greg made a lovely–”

Belle smacked her hand on the table, cutting him off. “Greg was total  _ jerk _ who was only looking for someone to… to fellate his ego!”

The diner fell silent, but Belle refused to glance around at all the faces that were definitely staring at them. Couldn't ignore Ruby snickering by the soda fountain though.

“He  _ what?” _

“My date with Rumford was the best date I've ever been on!” Belle said, putting her foot down. “He actually listens to what I have to say and asks for  _ permission _ before he kisses me!”

“Maybe it was.” Moe conceded. “But I think if you're expecting to ever hear from him again, you're only going to be disappointed.”

“But we made plans…” she mumbled, shrinking in her seat.

“Alright,” he shrugged. “Then  _ where? _ When?”

Belle thought back to her conversation with Rumford at the hotel and frowned. “Well… plans to  _ make _ plans.”

Her father sighed. “Exactly.” he said, leaning back victoriously in his seat. “I'm sorry, princess.”

“No.” she said, lifting her chin up. “You're wrong about him.

He had to be. Rumford had been far too sweet, far too nervous– and the kiss they'd shared far too magical– for him to be the sort of man Papa thought he was.

“Well, for your sake, princess, I hope I'm wrong.” he said.

“I would  _ appreciate it _ if you'd stop calling me  _ princess.” _ Belle said before she could talk herself out of it. “I don't like it and I never  _ have.” _

Moe scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You always used to love it when I called you princess!”

Belle folded her arms over her chest and huffed. “When I was a  _ child!” _ she said. “I am a twenty-eight year old woman and I won't tolerate being infantilized a moment longer!”

Her father blinked owlishly, and as Belle glanced around the quiet diner again, she could tell she had said those words entirely too loudly. She heard a familiar, stifled laugh from the kitchen and looked down at the fist she'd slammed on the table with a sigh.

She owed Ruby twenty dollars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TEA nominations are underway!](http://theespensonawards.tumblr.com/) If you're on Tumblr and would like to support my work, you can be a rockstar and spread around the promos I've been posting here - [[x](http://ifishouldvanish.tumblr.com/tagged/TEA%202018)].
> 
> Thank you all for your comments and encouragement on this story! :*


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Rumford exchange letters, and a date is set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TMI's for last chapter here - [[x](http://ifishouldvanish.tumblr.com/tagged/tmi:%20bh10)]  
> ...Speaking of which, in a forever ago TMI, Ariel was another appraiser on the show, but I decided to change that (and a few other things) up a bit, seeing as this 'verse has grown so much since then :x

Belle stormed back into the library, fuming from her lunch with her father. It figured, that if there was anybody who could drag her down from her post-Rumford high, it would be _him._

Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he just be happy and excited for her? And how _dare_ he have the audacity to complain about her not coming to him to talk about her life when he always reacts like this?

“Stupid... stubborn _jerk!”_ Belle muttered under her breath. She plopped into her seat at the circulation desk with a huff and booted up her computer. _“Just order the cheeseburger, princess!”_ she mocked, the keyboard clacking loudly as she logged into the library's management system. “Such a ridiculous, stubborn, rude, pigheaded–”

“You okay there, Belle?”

She stopped typing and spun around in her chair, finding one of the library volunteers standing in the doorway to the back room.

 _“...Anna.”_ Belle took a deep breath and put on a smile. “I’m… fine. I’m wonderful. I’m…” she trailed off with a chuckle. “I’m having a _great day!”_ she assured, her voice climbing an octave or two.

Anna stared blankly for a moment, clearly not convinced, and smacked her lips. “...Right. Well, the mail came in while you were out. This one’s addressed to you?” she said dubiously, revealing a large document mailer she’d been holding behind her back.

Belle scoot closer in her wheeled chair and tilted her head at it. “...it is?”

 _Mail?_ Addressed to _her?_ And it wasn't just a letter or a bill or something– but a thick _packet!_

But why would anyone send anything to _her?_ She was just an librarian's assistant. A nobody. It wasn’t like she was the library director, or the administrative assistant, or even the inter-library loan specialist!

_...Yet._

Belle shook her head and squared her shoulders. “I mean, of course it is,” she said cooly, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I get mail. From people. You know, I bet it’s um, really important.”

But _“Mail!_ ” the voice in her head screamed! _Addressed to her!_

This was a milestone, wasn't it? Maybe the branch director had put in a good word about her with the district chair? Maybe they'd decided she was ready for more responsibilities. Maybe her handling of this piece of mail was a test, that if passed, would grant her a promotion to full-fledged librarian!

She cleared her throat and smoothed out her blouse. One had to maintain a stately, dignified appearance in front of the library’s guests and volunteers, after all. How she looked and behaved was a reflection of the library itself, and the last thing the library needed was to give off the impression of being sloppy, disorganized, and an inefficient waste of taxpayer dollars that could be better spent on bronze statues celebrating slave-owning colonists, new benches on Main Street that were too uncomfortable for homeless people to sleep on, or a heightened law enforcement presence to keep the jaywalkers at bay.

“Anyway,” Anna coughed, “It says it’s from…” she checked the return address as she began walking over. “Rumf–”

 _“Give it to me.”_ Belle snapped, lunging out of her seat and snatching it from her hands.

“O-kay…” Anna said, giving the envelope a finishing pat where it already sat in Belle's arms. For the effect.

Belle cradled the mailer reverently for a moment, smoothing her hands over it and smiling. She brushed her thumb over the return address, recognizing the handwriting from the names Rumford had scribbled down for her after their appraisal on Saturday. She briefly wondered if he actually _had_ return address labels and specifically elected _not_ to use them in favor of handwriting everything for her. She liked to think so.

“Something exciting?” Anna asked, taking a step closer and leaning forward to see. “What is it?”

"I don’t know what it is.” Belle sighed happily.

“Oh.” Anna shrugged. “I mean, I get excited over junk mail all the time too.” Her eyes suddenly lit up then, and she smiled. “I love it when you get one of those packs of like, fifty postcards that are all coupons for stuff like custom closets and roofing? There’s one for heating and air conditioning that’s my favorite that has a snowman on it with–”

“It’s not _junk!”_ Belle cut in, clutching the mailer against her chest protectively. “It’s from _Dr Gold…”_ she explained with a wistful sigh, her gaze drifting up to the ceiling.

 _“If you're expecting to ever hear from him again, you're only going to be disappointed,”_ her father had said! And _“Ha!_ ” she thought!

She ought to invite him over for dinner so she can rub it in his big, stupid face! How wrong he was! Dead wrong! And with _this_ timing? Clearly it was a sign! She and Rumford were a match blessed by the fates themselves!

She let out a squeal and started to pick at the flap of the document mailer with her nails. “Gosh! I wonder what it could be!”

“Oh!” Anna’s eyes widened. _“Dr Gold!_ Is that the guy whose picture you had on your desk and I thought he was your fiancé for the longest time?”

Belle stopped struggling to break the seal on the mailer and huffed. “I did _not_ have his picture on my desk!”

“Yeah you did! It was right next to–”

Belle put a heeled foot down. “I was making a _vision board.”_

Anna pouted her lips for a moment in thought. “Hm… pretty sure you were planning a wedding.”

Belle gave an indignant huff and dropped into her chair, using her feet to wheel herself back over to the desk so she could grab her letter opener. She had to fight back a smile as she plucked it out from the _Be Brave_ mug that housed her pens, highlighters, and scissors, though– it had been sitting in there, unused, since her very first day at the library. But _this_ day was different. There was change in the air, and what better piece of mail to christen her letter opener with than something from Rumford!

“...It looked nice?” Anna offered.

“It was a Regency theme,” Belle explained, hastily jabbing the envelope with the little blade.

“Ooh. Nice.”

“Because I love Austen and he–” she cut herself off and slammed the letter opener back down.

“Mmhm…” Anna grinned and spun on her heels, disappearing into the back room again.

Belle took a deep breath and returned to the envelope. She felt torn between tearing the the thing to shreds as quickly as possible, versus taking her time and being careful not to damage it. Savoring the moment won out, and as she finished sliding the contents out, she finally laid eyes on the first page– A handwritten letter. _From Rumford._

 

_Belle–_

_I’d first like to say that it was a pleasure meeting you at the event on Saturday, and an even greater pleasure to enjoy your company at the market. I trust you and Miss Lucas had a safe and pleasant trip home to Storybrooke– I must confess that having the blissful memory of our time together so fresh in my mind, made the flight home seem to pass measurably more quickly._

_I'm writing you in regards to your book. Enclosed are copies of all the sources on Mailys Desrosiers I have on hand. Most are letters to an unnamed lover, others are addressed to fellow artists and authors, and a few are news clippings mentioning exhibitions she or Les Reines des Ténèbres were involved in. I do hope you might find something illuminating among them. In any case, I look forward to hearing from you again soon._

_Warmest regards,  
_ _Rumford_

 

Belle's heart fluttered in her chest.

_Warmest regards._

He could have just said regards, or _kind_ regards, or _warm_ regards, but he wrote warm _-est_ regards. That had to be code for, “I long to set my eyes upon your beautiful face again because ever since that perfect summer afternoon we shared in Boston, not a single moment has passed in which I haven't thought about the unrivaled bliss of feeling your lips against mine.”

_Right?_

Because if she were to write him a friendly-yet-professional-but-hopefully-someday-much-much-more letter, she would also choose to close it with not just regards, _kind_ regards, or _warm_ regards, but– _warmest regards._

She stood up and began pacing around in small circles at her desk, reading the letter again and again. The more she read it, the more she felt like she might float up and away!

_He thought about her during his flight!_

_Fondly!_

Belle stopped pacing suddenly and gasped. _She'd have to order an archival folder to put his letter in!_ Or maybe there'd be _more_ letters! She could get a whole archival _box!_ Keep it stowed under her bed! Take it out after a long day and read them all again, imagining Rumford's voice and basking in the sunshine of his love! Then maybe, in a hundred years, their great-grandchildren could read their letters and marvel at the epic romance they shared!

Biting back a smile, Belle finally began eagerly sifting through all the documents in the envelope, finding exactly what he'd described. She scanned over bits and pieces, picking up on words here and there, but she decided she didn't want to spoil anything for herself. Who knew what mysteries they held, what stories they had to share?

No, no– she'd have to sit down after her shift and give them all her undivided attention. After all, Rumford had personally gathered each of these sources for her. The thought made her feel like she might burst. Rumford, printing and copying and compiling these letters and clippings with her and only her in mind.

_How romantic!_

She took a deep, steadying breath and quickly thumbed through the rest of the papers until a thick card dropped to the floor.

_Oh?_

She held the stack of papers tightly and dipped down to pluck the notecard off of the carpet. Solid, cream-colored cardstock with a thin, metallic gold trim. Belle smiled and gave a little sigh.

_Her man had style. Taste. An eye for details and a flair for the dramatic._

The one side of the card was blank, so she flipped it over. And there, in Rumford's elegant hand, it read:

 _“The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery. There is always more mystery.”  
__― Anaïs Nin_  

Suddenly weak in the knees, Belle clutched the pages against her chest and slumped against the wall with a sigh.

Her mother had always told her that love was a mystery to be uncovered. Could it be, that as she and Rumford worked to uncover the mystery of her book and _Les Reines des Ténèbres,_ that they would also uncover the wonder and mystery of each other? She certainly hoped so.

_“...H-hello?”_

Belle startled with an audible gasp, blinking at the teenage boy waiting on the other side of the circulation desk with a stack of books.

He furrowed his brows. “You okay, lady?”

Belle nodded and beamed a smile. “I’m going to _marry_ him!” she whispered excitedly, poking her finger at the letter in her hand.

“...Um. Okay.” The boy made a confused face, but shrugged, and slid his selections across the counter. “Well, I'm uh, ready to check these out.”

“Right.” Belle chuckled awkwardly and shook her head. “Of course. Let's… check out some books, shall we?” she said, her voice climbing an octave or two again.

Oh, she was going to have to write Rumford back right away.

 

*****

 

_A letter from Belle._

He'd become downright giddy when he checked the mail at the shop and found it tucked between an assortment of bills and solicitations. He'd carried it all over to his desk in the back room, eased into his chair, and delicately swept his letter opener along the envelope, relishing in the crisp sound it made as the blade cut through the paper. The whole process, typically so ordinary and thoughtless, titillated him now.

He plucked the letter out delicately, as if unwrapping a precious gift– and he supposed that in a sense it was– Because _this_ letter was from _Belle._ He had to force his eyes not to read faster than his mind could process the words. To partake in the details of Belle's penmanship, her taste in stationery, her beautiful, beautiful _words._

She thanked him for sending all those sources pertaining to her book and for showing her such a lovely time. _(But oh, the pleasure had been all his!)_ Expressed her hope that he and Neal were doing well. _(She remembered Neal!)_ Described how delighted she had been to receive his letter and how she sought to return the favor. _(She did!)_ Alluded to the sorts of things they might do together when he visited Storybrooke _(When! Not if!)_

She closed the whole thing, _“Thinking of us still, Belle”_ with a little heart next to her name, and goodness– she was such a bold, cheeky thing, wasn't she? While adrift on Cloud Nine, Rumford almost didn't notice the notecard that was tucked inside the envelope. A due date card from her library, in fact– and how charming a detail it was!

 _“The mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be kindled.”  
__–Plutarch_  

A smile tugged at Rumford's lips as he read the card again and again.

Had she put as much care into selecting this quote as he had? Was she implying that he kindled the fire of her mind? And maybe, dare he hope, the flame within her heart?

He flipped the card between his fingers, and had he blinked he'd have missed it, but _oh!_ There was more! The scribbled words, “...if you can make it,” framed inside a heart. He creased his brows, baffled until he finally read the heading on the card, and noticed the single date stamped into the first cell.

 _Please return by:  
_ _AUG 12 2017_

August twelfth? That was the weekend after his next _Roadshow_ event in Richmond! She was planning their first rendez-vous– and it was such a pleasant surprise, wasn't it? In all his eagerness to do the romancing, he hadn't even _considered_ the possibility of how delightful it might be to be romanced himself! He felt positively buoyant!

Rumford set the card down and wet his lips, trying to school the smile from his face. He was becoming more mindful of them now, after several people had pointed out a change in his demeanor. They'd poke and prod, bait him with a, _“looks like somebody's having a good day today, huh?”_ and he'd just shrug and make some comment about how blissful the weather was, how perfect his cup of tea had been that morning, or how _every_ day was a blessing when one really thought about it.

Sure, he could sing from the mountaintops his adoration for Belle– but it was such a new, exciting thing, and he intended to keep it somewhat of a little secret a while longer.

They were like two young lovers in a Fragonard painting, he fancied. Exchanging letters, arranging plans to meet in a lush garden at sunset where they might enjoy a romantic stroll without the prying eyes of a chaperone. Where he could murmur fanciful things into Belle's ear, and watch her cheeks deepen to match the color of the roses that surrounded them. Where the two of them could steal kisses from one another while a moss-covered statue of Venus and Cupid kept watch.

Oh, yes. This budding thing of theirs was so very _Rococo,_ wasn't it? And now he was smiling again.

He looked across the back room to the workbench where Ariel was situated, repairing a jeweled brooch. Cleared his throat. “Miss Halloran?”

“...Yes?” she acknowledged him a little belatedly, not taking her eyes off of her work.

“How would you feel about… running the shop for me sometime in the next two or three weeks? I'm thinking… the eleventh through the fourteenth.”

“Yeah. Sure.” she shrugged, and Rumford could see her deft little hands continuing to work. “...Why though? I thought the tour was over after next week.”

“It is.” he nodded. “But– I might like to do a bit of traveling.”

She set her needle file down and held the brooch up, examining her work. “Oh yeah? Where to?”

Rumford wet his lips and drummed his fingertips on his desk. “...Storybrooke.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Little town in Maine.”

“Estate sale?”

Rumford fidgeted in his seat a little, his cheeks suddenly hot.

 _Oh, to say or not to say?_ The simple truth, “actually, I’ve a date with charming young woman,” bubbled inside him, nearly boiling over. But no, no– this would stay between only he and Belle for now.

...And Neal.

...And David.

He smacked his lips, grinning again. “Something like that.”

After a moment, Ariel released an exasperated sigh and see the brooch back down. “You have appointments booked, though.” she reminded him, picking up her pliers and file again. “We’ll have to reschedule those clients.”

 _Bugger!_ Clients! Of course!

If only there were somebody else whose passion for antiques matched his own. Someone whose expertise he recognized. Someone he could trust, who had established some kind of rapport with him. Someone who was looking for an opportunity to demonstrate what they were truly capable of, so that they might achieve a higher level of self-actualization. Oh, _wait._

“...Not if you see the clients yourself.” Rumford suggested, keeping his tone nonchalant.

“Huh?”

“I'd like for you to handle the appointments. Write up the estimates and the valuations.” he explained, watching for her reaction. “I'll be back in time to review your work– though based on the quality of the reports you've done for me so far, I'm sure that should hardly be necessary.”

Ariel finally stopped working and looked over her shoulder at him, green eyes gleaming. _“Really?”_

“Aye. I think… well, I think you're ready to start taking on more responsibilities here.” Rumford said, and he leaned back in his chair, a proud smile tugging at his lips.

 _Ah, yes._ It was almost strange to think that a mere three years ago, Miss Halloran was just a frequent window shopper. She'd come in with no shortage of questions about the many gadgets and gizmos that adorned his shelves, often lingering until it was time for him to lock up. Before he knew it, she was helping him do watch repairs– holding this for a second, handing him that– all the while describing the various bits and bobs she'd seen at thrift stores, asking his opinion on any pieces she had her eye on but wasn't sure about.

Offering Miss Halloran a job had been a no-brainer, he thought, and he could feel his eyes watering and his smile widening. Under his instruction, she'd grown from a wayward weekend hobbyist into a seasoned expert– ready for anything the vibrant and ever-changing world of antiques and appraising might throw her way. _Oh, yes._ Miss Halloran had once been a wee baby bird, but now she was ready to spread her wings and fly. How proud he was, to have nurtured such a promising young talent in his own shop! And she wasn't much unlike himself, now was she? Come to think of it, if ever he had a daughter, he imagined she might be–

Rumford discreetly wiped a lone tear from the corner of his eye and cleared his throat. _“A-and should things work out–_ your pay, of course, would be adjusted appropriately.” he tacked on, hunching over his desk and feigning a renewed interest in the mail. The bills and solicitations, that is– his interest in Belle's letter was far from feigned.

“You mean like, a promotion?” Ariel asked.

“Aye.” He neatened the documents on his desk and looked up at her with another smile– much more restrained, this time. “From restorations assistant to ah… restorations _manager.”_

Ariel let out a squeal and leapt out of her seat. _“Yes!”_ she cheered and rushed over to his desk. “I mean– of course! Whatever you need, Mr Gold– you can count on me!”

He chuckled softly at her enthusiasm. “You've been a very valuable asset, Miss Halloran. The work you do does not go unnoticed.”

“Thank you.”

“I'll… move forward with my plans, then.” he said, idly tapping a finger on his postcard from Belle. “And Miss Halloran?”

“Yes, Mr Gold?”

He glanced over to the open door that led to the sales floor, catching the younger of his two employees leaning against the frame. Her fingers tapped rapidly at her phone screen, and the smile and blush on her face were all too familiar to him now. They were no doubt the same smile and blush he was guilting of wearing himself these days.

“Maybe start showing Tilly the ropes next week.” he said quietly. "Let her shadow you on jewelry and watch repairs, and have her read some of the appraisals we've done in the past– perhaps the _Horner_ set we did last year. See which side of things she might be inclined towards."

“Ooh... an apprenticeship?” Ariel whispered.

“Exactly.” Rumford said. “She's a bright young lady, and I believe… her potential lies far beyond the cash register.”

 

*****

 

_Two Weeks Later_

Rumford took several deep breaths once he finished making his reservation over the phone. Belle hadn't been exaggerating when she'd told him that Miss Lucas’ grandmother owned the inn in town– All his Googling quickly revealed that it was the _only_ inn in town. It was a charming thing though, he'd decided once he saw a picture of it– a remarkable example of the British Arts and Crafts style that he looked forward to seeing in person.

A voice he could only assume belonged to ‘Granny’ had answered his call, but Ruby's more familiar voice quickly intercepted once he'd given his name. She assured him that he'd be given the nicest room they had– and that the walls were very thick and well-insulated, in case he was wondering. The furniture was apparently very sturdy as well (the bed frame, in particular), though Rumford couldn't understand her confused reaction when he told her that should hardly come as a surprise– assuming the furnishings were all period-appropriate for a home built in 1910. You really couldn't beat the quality craftsmanship of the Arts and Crafts movement, after all.

With that out of the way, it was time to plan his outfits. He hadn't worried about his wardrobe back in Boston, as he simply had to make do with what he had. But now? He had his whole wardrobe at his disposal, and was it silly that he wished he could call his aunties?

Auntie Edith... she'd tell him, _“We may not be a churchgoing family, but that doesn't mean we can't dress like one. You put on a nice, white,_ pressed _shirt and tie, Rum! Shine your shoes! And don't forget to shave! If you haven't a fiver for the barber, you let me know! I'll not have our boy going out looking like a dirty ragamuffin!”_

And Auntie Ainsley would surely say something like, _“Oh, give the lad a break, Edith! All the boys are wearing it long these days!”_ Then she'd lean in and whisper to him, _“You don't have to be such a stiff, Rum– I say, sod the tie and undo a button or two! Gotta give the birds a little taste, eh?”_

But– _“He doesn't need to be giving_ anyone _a little taste of_ anything!” Edith would argue. _“He's a_ handsome _boy.”_ She’d say, and then she’d turn to him and cup his face in her hands. _“You're a very handsome young man, Rum."_

 _“Please!”_ Ainsley would laugh. _“You gave me way more than ‘a little taste’ on_ our _first date!”_

 _“Oh, don't you be crass in front of our Rumford!”_ Edith would shoot back, making some vain attempt to cover his ears. _"You're gonna make him rotten!"_

 _“I'm no’ being crass!”_ Edith would groan. _“...Nothin’ crass about havin’ a good time, you hear?”_ she’d add in another whisper, giving him a wink and a nudge with her elbow.

Rumford found himself smiling and shook his head. Perhaps it was actually for the best that he couldn't ask for his aunties’ advice. There were just some things a man had to do on his own, weren't there? And it wasn't as though he didn't know how to dress himself! He knew how to put a suit together! He just needed to decide which suit would be his ‘date with Belle’ suit!

His eyes swept back and forth over the meticulously arranged hangers in his wardrobe. The black suits at the end, fading into charcoal in the middle, and navy on the other end. He kept lingering on one in particular– a not-quite-black one, with pinstripes. Oh, that one was his favorite. He didn't get many opportunities to wear it though, as it was a bit showy– a little too showy to wear to work. But for a _date?_ It could be just right.

 He took it down and laid it neatly across the bed, then returned to his closet to choose another. This time, he chose a solid black suit. One could never go wrong with a nice black suit with a classic, tailored fit, could they? The pinstriped suit was the suit of a bold and confident man. But this one was suit of a man who _needed_ to feel bold and confident. It was conservative, safe, comfortable, familiar. The sort of suit that made the man, and not the other way around.

He repeated the process with his shirts, his ties, his pocket squares– his options for each garment narrowed by his choices for the others– until it came time to decide which outfit he ought to wear the day he arrived in Storybrooke. It would be the first time Belle saw him since Boston, and he wanted to look perfect. Give a good impression. Put his best foot forward.

Rumford felt a mild bit of relief when he walked down the hall and found his son's bedroom door was open. He was lying on his bed, tapping away at his phone, so Rumford cleared his throat and waited at the threshold.

Neal paused and glanced at him.

“Which do you think?” he asked, holding up the two outfits he'd narrowed his options down to, each with a coordinating tie draped around the hanger. In his right hand, he held his black suit with a shirt in a muted burgundy, and a navy tie and pocket square. In his left was the pinstriped suit. He'd paired it with a hot pink shirt, a black tie that had a matching pink windowpane print, and a black pocket square with a brightly colored trim.

One conservative option, and one bolder one.

Neal narrowed his eyes for a moment. “Hmm… I think the pink.”

Rumford smiled. “Aye? Y-you don't think it's too much? Not too flashy?”

His son tilted his head as though he were piecing together a Cubist painting. “Eh… I mean _maybe,_ but the other one is so… serious. You're going on a date, pop– not attending a _funeral.”_

“Well, what about my purple shirt? You know, the–”

“The one that looks exactly like every other shirt you have, only it's purple? Yeah, I think know the one.” Neal deadpanned.

Rumford rolled his eyes and huffed.

“No, they're both nice. But I like the pink, dad. It's… bold. It's... got a little razzle-dazzle.”

“Well, I don't wannae look like a tosser, either!”

“She won't think you look like a _tosser!”_ Neal said. “Besides– I think _Jefferson_ liked it when you wore the pink…” he added, wiggling his brows.

Rumford swallowed and looked at the floor. “What ah, wh-what makes you say that?” he asked, turning the pink ensemble around and holding it up– both so that he could look at it again and hide his blushing cheeks behind it.

 _Ridiculous._ He hadn't been face to face with Jefferson in over two years! Hell, up until a few weeks ago, he hadn't even realized he was ever attracted to the man in the first place– and yet here he was, blushing like a schoolboy at the mere mention of his name!

It was nonsense. Emotional clutter. Previously unchanneled energy belatedly expending itself. Rumford knew his heart only beat for one person these days, and that her name was Belle French.

“Look, I don't even know what you're asking me for anyway,” Neal shrugged. “You dress _way_ better than I do.”

“Well, _there's_ an understatement…” Rumford mumbled under his breath, glancing pointedly at his son's ripped jeans, faded band t-shirt, and hoodie that had become stretched from too many washings.

 _Teenagers these days!_ Where was their pride? Back when he'd gotten his first paycheck, the _first_ thing he did was buy himself a new suit! Gods, how tempting it was to just grab his son by the ear and drag him to the tailor! On some level, he’d always understood Auntie Edith's fears about him looking like a ragamuffin, but now? Now he _felt it._ His own son! A pathetic-looking little street urchin!

“Just wear the pink.” Neal said.

Rumford blinked stammered for a moment. “Th-the pink?”

“Yeah.” he shrugged. “Girls love it when dudes wear pink. It says like, _I’m confident enough that I don't think wearing a girly color is a threat to my masculinity,_ you know?”

Rumford wrinkled his nose. _“...What?_ Why would wearing a color–”

“I don't know!” Neal blurted, throwing his hands up. “I didn't singlehandedly codify gender in the Western world!”

He let out a deep sigh. “So _pink?”_

“Pink.” Neal decided.

“You're cert–”

“Oh my God, pop.” he groaned and rolled his eyes. “Just wear the pink!”

“Okay!” he said. “The pink! The pink.”

Yes. The pink shirt with his pinstriped suit. Rumford only hoped that when the day came, he’d have to confidence to pull it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyoo
> 
> I have Rumford's stay in Storybrooke outlined, but if there's anything specific y'all would like to see, let me know and I'll see if I can work it in :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumford arrives in Storybrooke on Saturday, and meets a few new faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao enjoy this totally silly fluff bomb. I'm saving the real meat n' potatoes for next chapter. 
> 
> (and no-- that's not a euphemism for sexy times. That'll come later, and probably be published separately from the main fic)
> 
> Anyways, TMI’s for last chapter here - [[x](http://ifishouldvanish.tumblr.com/tagged/tmi:%20bh11)]

He was a few hours early. He was supposed to check into the inn in the afternoon, at which point Belle would meet him and they'd go to the diner together to catch up. But the truth was that Rumford wanted to surprise her. He’d ordered flowers the other day, and he was going to pick them up and bring them to the library before her shift ended.

Oh, his stomach was in terrible knots over the whole thing. But _good_ knots. _Ready to see Belle_ knots.

Would they kiss? It seemed appropriate. But what sort of kiss? On the lips? The cheek? The hand? If they kissed on the lips, how… _deeply_ should he do it? They'd kissed quite passionately before they parted ways in Boston– but such a kiss didn't seem appropriate now.

_“Let her take the lead,”_ David had told him back then. That seemed like as sound advice as any. After all, Rumford supposed he'd be more than happy to be kissed in whichever manner Belle saw fit, and Belle hardly seemed like the sort of person who might grow upset with him in the event that he _did_ decide he didn't want to be kissed in the same manner that she wanted to kiss him.

_Yes._ Belle was kind and gentle and understanding and wonderful and he had nothing to worry about. He knew this.

If only his stomach could understand it as well.

He should've went with the solid black suit today, shouldn't he have? He definitely looked like a tosser.

Hot pink?

Pinstripes?

A pocket square with a rainbow trim!?

What in God's name was he thinking!?

Rumford gripped the steering wheel and took a deep breath. It was too late to worry about that now. He put this damned suit on, and now he had to _wear_ it. With confidence.

He looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror and took another deep breath.

_Pick up the flowers. Go to the library. See Belle._

_Everything will feel better once you see Belle._

Before he could talk himself out of it, he shut off the ignition and opened the door of the Cadillac. Set one foot outside. Took another deep breath.

Confidence, confidence, confidence. A pinstriped suit worn without confidence would be an injustice. A travesty. Some kind of high treason against the world of fashion that he held so dear.

Rumford took a moment to size up the florist shop in front of him as he buttoned his suit jacket. He smoothed out his tie and gave his pocket square a pat too. For good luck.

The name of the shop was _Game of Thorns,_ which he’d found rather curious– He could have sworn that was the name of a TV show Neal watched, or something of the sort. One of those games for the Nintendo, perhaps?

_Doesn't matter,_ he told himself.

_You're stalling._

Rumford shook his head and shut the car door. As he stepped inside the shop, he was greeted by the jingle of a bell; It summoned a man who had a tired face and looked rather irritable, but that was neither here nor there.

_You're a bold, confident man in pinstripes,_ Rumford reminded himself. _The world bows to you._

“Game of Thorns.” the man mumbled miserably. “How can I help you?”

His voice sounded familiar somehow. It was different than the voice who had taken the order over the phone, yet Rumford couldn't shake the feeling that he'd heard it before. He elected to ignore it for the moment and flashed a polite smile. “Ah, _yes._ I'm here to pick up an order. The name's Gold.”

The man paused a moment, then nodded. He rubbed a hand over his face and slipped into the back room again, returning a moment later with Belle's bouquet.

Three dozen roses. In Salmon. For desire and excitement. Because those were the feelings that overtook him every time he thought of her– and as a bold, confident man (in pinstripes) he wasn't afraid to express that.

“Did you want to add a note to that?” The man asked.

“Yes, that would be lovely.”

He slid a little note card and pen across the counter, and Rumford hunched over to scribble a message down. He hesitated at first, convinced the man was watching him. He tried to cover it with his hand so he wouldn't be able see, but couldn't manage it without being too conspicuous.

But that was just fine.

Bold, confident men didn't give a damn if strangers could read the love notes they wrote to their dates. In fact, they pitied the fools who saw the expression of one's loving feelings as weakness, as something to be ashamed of.

With renewed resolve, he began writing.

 

_Belle–_  
_One look at you, and I felt something there that never was before.  
–Rumford_

 

Short. Simple. And the God's honest truth. Rumford closed the card and slid it across the counter. “There we are.”

_Yes._ He was feeling it now. That confidence, that boldness. He had every right to be wearing a pinstriped suit with a hot pink shirt, a matching pink tie, and a silk pocket square with a rainbow trim.

He was a pretty peacock.

An ambassador of aesthetics.

A champion of charm.

The man picked the card up and began tucking it between the blooms of the bouquet, but it fumbled out of his hands and landed face open on the counter. Both their eyes snapped down to the card for a moment, then, slowly, up to each other's.

The man somehow seemed more irritable now.

“...You're _Rumford Gold!”_ he finally realized, pointing a nasty finger at him.

Rumford blinked, taken aback. Terribly rude to point, it was.

“You're that man! From the TV!”

_Ah._ A smirk tugged Rumford's lips then. “Guilty as charged.” he chuckled, offering his hand to shake. “Fan of the _Roadshow,_ I take it?”

The man cleared his throat and scowled. “Not exactly.”

Rumford took a half step back and withdrew his hand, using it instead to idly adjust his pocket square. “Oh?”

The florist held the opened card up to him. “I'm Maurice _French.”_ he grit though his teeth. “Belle's _father.”_

“...Oh.” he said again, because of course he was. It wasn't the _voice_ that was familiar to him, but the accent. That Aussie accent. _Belle's accent._

_Think, think, think._ His aunties always taught him to make sure he behaved like a gentleman at all times, but _especially_ around a sweetheart's parents. Polite. Respectful. Expressing an admiration for a job well done in raising such a charming young woman– or man, or whomever (Charming people came in many varieties, after all). And if said sweetheart's charm couldn't be attributed to the parenting, you could always comment instead on how beautiful their home was, how tempting dinner smelled, or how delightful their tchotchkes were. Anything of the sort, really.

The important thing was just to make sure that whatever you complimented them on, that you were genuine– as people had a terrible knack for taking dishonest compliments to heart, and you didn't want to be subject to the same disappointing meal every visit, or be saddled with a hideous figurine you'd be expected to have on display in the event that your hosts ever became your guests and questioned its whereabouts.

In the worst case scenario, if you couldn't find anything to pay a genuine compliment to, it would then be acceptable to simply state a fact, but make it vague enough that it might sound complimentary by omitting the appropriate adjectives. For example, 'This is quite a (messy) home you have, sir.’ or, 'Yours is one of largest collections of (those God awful) Hummel figures I have ever seen.’ Auntie Ainsley wasn't fond of this tactic, calling it a lie of omission and encouraging him to instead be a 'straight shooter’– but Auntie Edith said it was both a lie of omission _and_ a white lie, and that when you combined the two, it could hardly be considered a lie at all.

“It's... lovely to meet you, Mr French.” Rumford finally said, extending his hand again. “Belle's told me much about you– such that I can tell she cares very deeply for you.”

So, Belle hadn't actually told him much of anything about her father. But she _did_ tell him that she'd stayed in town for college because of him. That didn't seem like the kind of thing someone as studious and ambitious as she would take lightly.

Belle's father stared at his hand uncomfortably for a long moment, then slowly, cautiously accepted it.

“My daughter… seems to think very highly of you.” he said simply. _“Dr Gold.”_

“And I consider it a great honor to have earned her high opinion, sir. Belle's a wonderfully intelligent, compassionate, and free-thinking woman, and there's nothing I respect and admire more.” Rumford said, and he was well aware of the fond smile blooming across his face.

Yes, Belle was positively wonderful.

Mr French squinted at him a moment before letting go of his hand. “You know… it seems a little presumptuous, in my uh, _professional_ opinion as a florist, to buy a girl three dozen roses when you haven't even met her father yet. Don't you think?”

Rumford blinked, rendered stiff for the moment. His aunties always warned him about overprotective fathers. The sort who treat their daughters’ sexuality as some sort of commodity, and are oppressively reluctant to relinquish control over it– even well into her adult years. In such cases, it was important to put them in their place. Make it clear that their daughter's independence is more important to you than earning their good opinion, because their opinion of you would always be unshakably negative no matter what– until they managed to pull their head out of their arse. Their head might not _ever_ come out of their arse, of course, but it didn't hurt to try.

“I'm afraid I _don't,_ Mr French.” Rumford said. After all, Belle was no _girl_ to him. She was a grown woman, and–

“Tell me something–” Maurice said. “Do you have children? _...Mr_ Gold?”

Oh, Rumford bristled at that. _The nerve!_ Dropping his well-earned title of _Doctor_ in favor of _Mister!?_ Under ordinary circumstances he wouldn't give a rat’s arse, but _this_ man? It had hardly been five minutes and he'd already managed to prove himself an insufferable arse! No, no– It would be _Dr Gold_ to him.

“Well, _Maurice–”_ because two could play this game– “If you _must_ know, I have a son.” Rumford answered firmly, squaring his shoulders.

He scoffed. “And is he as much of a pompous ass as his father?”

Rumford opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it, pursing his lips instead. Took a deep breath. In times like this, his auntie Edith would say, _the Lord is testing me,_ but he wasn't his auntie Edith and he believed in no Lord who gave tests.

“Are you... _insinuating_ that my son's moral fortitude is lacking?” he asked.

Moe shrugged. “The apple rarely _does_ fall far from the tree.” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

Rumford let out a bark of amused laughter, then went silent. Lifting his chin, he narrowed his eyes and leaned over the counter. _Menacingly._ “Well, it's a shame you didn't buy a lotto ticket the day your daughter was born, because I imagine there was a snowball's chance in hell that _your_ _tree_ would bear fruit anywhere _near_ as–”

_R-r-r-r-ring! R-r-r-r-ing!_

Maurice and Rumford pulled away from the counter, both men taking turns staring at the phone, the wall, and furtively– each other.

_R-r-r-r-ring! R-r-r-r-ing!_

“...I have to take that.” Maurice finally said.

“Oh, yes. Certainly.” Rumford nodded, gesturing at it and relaxing his shoulders. “Go right ahead.”

With a nod, he answered the phone, tucking it under his neck while he reached for an order form. “Game of Thorns. This is Moe. ...Yes. ...Mhm. ...Yes, we have those. Yes, sir. ...Yes, definitely. Wouldn't be a problem at all, sir. ...And you'd like that delivered on what date?”

Rumford glanced around the shop patiently as he continued taking the call. He held his hand up to look at his nails for a moment, then rested it back on the counter, rhythmically drumming his fingertips on the surface to the tune of one of the songs he'd listened to on the drive over.

It had made him think of Belle. Because everything made him think of Belle.

There was the _clack_ of the phone being returned to the receiver. “Thank you for your patience,” Maurice said. “I apologise for the wait.”

“Well, I'm not a cruel man.” Rumford said. “I respect the demands of sole proprietorship.”

He narrowed his eyes at him, his gaze sweeping up and down.

_Was clearly admiring the pinstripes,_ Rumford thought.

Maurice tilted his head. “Do you, now?”

Rumford scoffed. “Of course I do. What kind of a man do you think I am?”

His eyes darted to where Rumford's hand rested on the counter and lingered for a moment. “...The kind who has _well-groomed fingernails.”_ he finally said, his lip curled in disdain.

“Well, what's wrong with _that?_ ” Rumford asked, furrowing his brows. “A manicure is a lovely way to treat oneself after a long work week.”

Maurice looked down at his own hands and frowned, his cheeks flushing. “I… _Is_ _it?_ B-because you know, I… I get all this brown and green gunk under my nails from the flowers, and well– I'd be embarrassed of my calluses–”

“Nothing they haven't seen before, I can assure you.” Rumford said with the drop of his wrist. “And far from the worst.”

He shifted on his feet. “You… you think so?”

“Oh, I know so.” he chuckled, leaning over the counter on one elbow and getting comfortable. “You see, my ex-wife– she’s quite the outdoorsy type.” he said, gesturing around at the flowers. “Always liked to do the yardwork barefoot? Said it made her feel more in touch with nature,” he shrugged and shook his head. “Anyway, without getting into too much detail–”

“Oh– no need.” Maurice quickly shook his head. “I understand.”

“You know,” Rumford snapped a finger. “Perhaps you and Belle might go together sometime. Make a thing of it.”

“Do– do you think she'd like that?”

“Oh, I don't think there's _anything_ better for mine and my boy’s relationship than to join him in his hobbies from time to time.” Rumford shrugged.

“But– a manicure? Aren't they for–” he lowered his voice. _“...sissies?”_

_Ah_. So that's what it all was. Insecurity. Another fellow man fallen victim to the horrific plague of gender essentialism. But there was a solution for that– rational thought.

Rumford leaned in closely, wetting his lips. “Tell me Mr French–” he began softly, “You have one group of men who would never get a manicure out of fear of what other people may think, and another group of men who say, ‘sod that, if I want to have the gunk of my labor cleaned out from under my nails at the end of week, so be it!” Now, you're concerned that it's the _latter_ of the two who are the ‘sissies’?”

Maurice scoffed. “Well, I… I guess I’ve never looked at it that way before. But… I don't know, it just seems…”

“Mr French.” Rumford said, setting a hand on his shoulder. “You're a small business owner– if the reviews I’ve read on the internet are to be believed, one of the best florists within a fifty mile radius of this zip code. You’re a widower and the father to an amazing, compassionate, and independent young woman. These are the things that define the kind of man you are, not… how strictly you adhere to an arbitrary and strict binary. I understand it can be tempting, to construct your identity around some blueprint the world has passed along to you, but I believe you’ll be much happier if you take the time to truly look inside yourself, and make the conscious decision to let Maurice be–”

“I prefer Moe”

Rumford blinked and cleared his throat. “My apologies. To let _Moe_ ... be _Moe.”_

Moe sniffled and looked away.

“...Aye?”

“Yeah, I… I might consider it.” he mumbled. “The m-manicure.”

“Aye.” Rumford smiled, giving his shoulder a little squeeze and standing upright again.

“Thank you.”

Rumford coughed into his fist and brushed a hand over his jacket. “You really ought to try a pedicure as well. A deluxe one, where they massage the calves?” he suggested. “Feels wonderful after being on your feet all day. Salon I go to uses this exfoliant that smells like almonds and cherries– though if it's been a particularly stressful week, I might opt for the lavender and eucalyptus–”

“Oh, I _love_ lavender.”

“Isn't it lovely?” Rumford agreed. “Anyway, it leaves the skin feeling _incredibly_ soft. The sensation when you slip into bed at night with nice, freshly exfoliated calves and feet–” he leaned over the counter and lowered his voice to a whisper, “...is unlike _anything_ you've ever experienced.”

Maurice blinked, seeming taken aback. _“Oh.”_

Rumford smiled and cleared his throat. “Well, Mr French– it's been a pleasure, but I've got to get these roses to Belle before her shift at the library ends, which is in–” he checked his watch, “...sixteen minutes.”

“Oh, yes– of course,” Moe nodded, rushing to ring him up. “Look, I'm sorry for ah… what I said about your boy. I'm sure he's a great kid, having a father like you.”

Rumford drew a deep breath and smiled, already feeling a tear welling in his eye. “Apology accepted, Mr French.”

With Belle's bouquet paid for, Rumford sauntered back outside and to his car. He set the arrangement on the passenger seat and buckled it in, taking a minute to adjust the seat belt.

Meanwhile, behind the counter at Game of Thorns, Moe French was watching as the man out to woo his daughter climbed back into his Cadillac.

_A real man's man,_ he thought. For who else could pull off hot pink and pinstripes like that?

He looked down at his green fingernails and smiled, making a note to look up the local nail salon. _Imagine him! Moe French! With clean, beautifully shaped nails!_ He could go with his daughter and they could catch up, talk about work, their favorite TV shows, their fondest memories of Colette, and–

He shook his head, snapping out of it.

_What the hell had just happened?_

That man was getting romantically involved with his little princess, and he just… _waved him off_ like he was an old friend?

Why wasn’t he angry?

Why hadn’t he threatened to smash a complimentary-on-orders-over-fifty-dollars vase over his head if he ever laid a finger on his daughter?

Was it possible that he genuinely thought he was a… good, honest, respectable man?

After he locked up for the day, Moe French really _was_ going to have some self-reflecting to do.

  
  


*****

  
  


Rumford hesitated at the front door of the library, struggling to hold the oversized floral arrangement in one hand so that he could open the door with the other. He finally managed to cradle the vase in one arm like a baby, only for the door to swing open on its own before he could reach to push it.

“I've got it!” a cheerful voice assured him. “Come on in!”

Rumford looked up, but the bouquet blocked his view of the woman's face as he squeezed through the door. “E-excuse me, miss. Is… is Miss French on the premises?”

“Belle?” she asked. “Yeah! Yeah, yeah. Let me get her!”

“No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” he blurted, the word barreling out of him. “You see, I-I’m trying to surprise her.”

The voice gasped. “Oh, _I see…”_ she murmured, and Rumford could hear a wink and a nudge in her tone. “Well, let me take that for you.” she offered, her small hands already wrapping around the vase in his arms. “I got it.”

“Oh. Th-thank you.” He reluctantly let go, but she seemed to have underestimated how heavy it was and stumbled with it, so he leapt for it again.

“I said I _got_ it!” she shushed, swatting him away.

“Oh. S-sorry.” he mumbled, relaxing his shoulders and attempting to peer through the bouquet still obscuring her face.

“No problem, Dr Gold. We can set these on the desk for her to see on her way out.”

Rumford blinked. “E-excuse me?”

“We’ll set these on the desk and she can see them on her way out.” she repeated. “I mean they're kinda hard to miss– what is this, three dozen? Two… six… twelve… eighteen… Oh. Oh yeah, this is _definitely_ three dozen. _Nice._ You must think she’s like, _really neat._ ” she said. “Anyway, it'll be like, on _her_ desk so she'll get the hint that they're for her and not just think we started decorating in here.”

Rumford blinked. Narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. The number of words this woman could get out of her mouth per minute… she ought to be working as an auctioneer! With proper training, she could be one of the greats!

He shook his head and peered over his shoulder around the library. “No, no. What I meant was... You know my name?”

“Of course I do!” The woman– girl, really– snorted and started heading for the circulation desk, giving him a view of her strawberry blonde braids. “Ever since she got back from Boston, you're all Belle talks about, sir.” she said. “Well, to be fair you're actually pretty much all she's _ever_ talked about. But since she got your letter–”

“Anna!” an older woman whispered from behind the circulation desk.

“Yes, Mrs Potts?”

The woman pointed a finger at a sign on the wall behind her that read, _SILENCE IS GOLDEN._ She then placed her finger over her lips and gave a stern, “ _Shh!”_

“Oh!” Anna gasped. “I get it! Silence is golden and he's Dr Gold and it's a supposed to be a surprise for Belle, so _shhh…”_

Mrs Potts rolled her eyes and shook her head, returning to her work.

“Anyway–” she laughed, then cut herself off so she could lower her voice to a whisper. “Ever since Belle got your letter, she's been even worse than usual. _Dr Gold_ this and _Rumford_ that. It's kind of weird but, you know, whatever makes her–”

Rumford began to tune her out as a warmth filled his chest. Could it really be that Belle was as gone on him as he was on her? That she, too, couldn't stop reliving their kiss every time she closed her eyes?

“Anyway,” Anna continued, “she's probably in the bathroom rehearsing how she'll say hello to you or something.”

_Oh, yes,_ Rumford thought with a smile, feeling his pulse begin to quicken. Such kindred spirits, they were. Was it possible to be so in love so soon? Well perhaps not _love–_ that was a deep, sacred thing– but surely whatever this was, it was far more than mere infatuation.

No, no. It had to be love. Together, they'd planted the seed of it that fine weekend in Boston– of that he was certain. Now it was time to water it, put it out in the sunlight, and let it blossom into a beautiful flower.

“There's some chairs in the front over there, if you wanna wait for her.” Anna shrugged, setting the vase down on the counter and finally turning to face him. “Gosh, this is gonna be _so_ good! She's totally gonna freak out!”

Rumford swallowed. “Yes, well ah… thank you. Miss–”

“Oh, no problem!” she smiled and immediately began walking past him. Rumford spun around to watch, unsure of whether or not he was supposed to follow her. But then she beckoned him over, leading him to a cozy reading chair which she gave an inviting pat. “You should sit in this spot right here so I can get a good view.” she winked.

Rumford's mouth hung open for a moment. “Ah… Thank you.”

“Mhmm!” she nodded and finally skipped away.

Slowly, he lowered himself into the chair and took it all in: _Belle's library._

Well, the Storybrooke Free Public Library. But as far as he was concerned, _Belle's library._

It was small, charming, the walls all decorated with illustrated posters touting the joys of learning and literacy, children's paintings, and event flyers for movie nights, book clubs, and after-school programs. The windows displayed carefully arranged new releases, the latest bestsellers, and paper crafts like _papier mâché_ dinosaurs and things. It had been ages since he’d visited anything other than an academic library, and he’d almost forgotten how cheerful and inviting the family atmosphere of a public one could be.

_Yes._ This was a place of learning and imagination. It had _Belle_ written all over it.

Something caught Rumford’s eye then, and he watched as a little boy wandered along the shelves in front of him, idly running his fingers along the spines of the books it held. He seemed to sense his presence as he got closer however, and quickly turned away. Rumford scoffed and counted the seconds before the boy turned to look at him again.

Four seconds it was– and the boy's face lit up, letting out a giggle.

_Ah, yes._ Such a precious age, Rumford thought with a smile. He could remember when Neal was so small, so shy, so curious, so–

_“O-oh!”_ Rumford rushed to his feet as the boy stepped one foot up on the bottom rung of the shelf and began pulling himself up.

“Let's not climb that, wee one.” he tutted, scooping him up and setting him back on the ground.

The boy looked up at him again and smiled, then scurried away on his tiny legs, disappearing beyond the shelves. With a scoff, Rumford settled back into his chair.

_God,_ how he missed it all! Tucking Neal into bed at night, reading him stories, giving him piggy-back rides… He’d always wanted another baby, before the divorce happened. Another little bundle of joy. Another little human to feed and nurture and watch grow into adult who had their own thoughts and talents and ideas to share with the world.

Perhaps he could adopt.

Or perhaps he was just being overly sentimental about Neal leaving for college soon. Perhaps he was just worried about being lonely. He’d never _truly_ been on his own, come to think of it. By the time his aunties had passed away, he’d met Milah. After the divorce, he'd retained full custody of Neal. And _now?_

His ears pricked at the sound of some commotion at the circulation desk, and there she was.

_Belle._

Venus incarnate.

Rumford watched her admire the bouquet, a hand over her mouth, and then over her heart. She leaned in to smell the roses and then pulled away, brows creased as she plucked out the note card. He could feel his heart beginning to swell as she read it. A beautiful blush rose to her cheeks and she asked something of her coworkers, who nodded in response. Another gasp. She bit down on her lip then, turning around to look for him.

And what a sight she was! The open excitement in her smile almost seemed to contradict the determination in her eyes as she sought him out. Hands laced over her belly, she waded through the library, peering through the rows of shelves until at last she spotted him. Her face lit up and she began rushing over with outstretched arms.

_Outstretched arms! For him!_

He rose to his feet and quickly buttoned his jacket, not taking his eyes off of her for an instant. “We may sit in our library, and yet be in all quarters of the Earth.” he said, unable to stop the smile blooming across his face.

_“Rumford!”_ she beamed, throwing her arms around him and knocking him back a step. “You made it!”

Was it really such a surprise that he’d come? They _had_ made plans, after all. Did she think he wouldn’t show? Did she think him such a fool? A _lovestruck_ fool, maybe.

He pulled away to look at her, taking her hands and rubbing his thumbs over the backs of them. _“Belle.”_ he exhaled.

She just smiled up at him. _“...Rumford.”_

Gods, she was heavenly, wasn't she? Cute as a button. Sweet as honey. With the sort of smile could melt the polar ice caps– if rampant industrial capitalism wasn't already doing the job.

_“Belle.”_ he said again, because he didn't really know what else to say and at least then the ball to initiate a proper conversation would be in her court.

She bit down on her lip and glanced over to the circulation desk for a moment, then back to him. “Thank you for the roses.” she murmured. “They're really beautiful. But um... you didn't have to get me that many.”

“Oh, I know.” Rumford said. “But ah…” he leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper, “I _wanted_ to get you that many.”

Her lips parted in the tiniest of gasps, then slowly curled into a smile. “Well… thank you very much.”

“You–” he paused and brought her hand to his lips to kiss it, “are quite welcome, Miss French.”

She bounced on her toes and her eyes sparkled.

Oh, how delightful it was to delight her!

But then the light in her eyes suddenly dimmed. “I um… take it you met my father?” she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking back at the flowers again.

“...I _did.”_ he answered simply. However, that was a tale better told over a meal, a game of Scrabble, or an evening stroll through the park.

She shook her head. “I'm sorry, he's just–”

“Not to worry.” he assured. “I made it here to you, and that is all that matters to me.”

She looked away, so demure, and shifted on her feet. He instinctively tried to follow her gaze, but before he could, she looked back at him and quickly pressed a kiss to his cheek. It sent his heart aflutter, and he was left with no choice but to gape back at her, breathless.

“So um, you're early.” she observed. _“Mr Gold.”_

“I am. _...Miss French.”_

She made a curious sound then. A giggle? But muffled somehow? Regardless, it was absolutely precious, just like the rest of her.

“I have to get my things and use the ladies’ room.” she said. “And then we'll um– _go.”_

Yes. _Go._ He enjoyed the way she said it as though it was a secret. The thought that she could say one word, and the two of them could delight in the knowledge that it meant so much more, and carried so much promise.

“Yes.” he nodded. “Of course. I'll ah… be waiting for you.”

She stood there for a moment, shifting on her feet as though she had something else to say. Rumford raised his brows expectantly and she wrung her hands before blessing him with another peck on his other cheek and finally heading off.

He'd planted his roots in that spot then, watching her go. She looked over her shoulder at him with a smile he couldn't help returning, and he decided that in this way, seeing Belle was like looking at a puppy. A balm to the soul, washing away all of his problems and replacing them with the overwhelming desire to... _smile,_ and _squish,_ and _cuddle_ things.

“Hmm… not bad.”

Rumford jumped and spun around, finding Anna had appeared behind him.

“You shoulda like, _laid one on her_ though!” she said. “You just kinda stood there and stared at her like a weirdo?”

Rumford furrowed his brows. “Excuse me?”

“In case you weren't sure, she totally wants to smash faces with you. _Big time._ I'm talking like Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh, you gotta _grab_ her, and you gotta _hold_ her and be like, ‘no one's _ever_ kissed you like _this_ before, have they?’ and _ravage_ her until you're both out of breath.”

Rumford’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. _“Grab_ her? _Ravage_ her!?” he scowled. “I'll do no such thing! I was raised better than to treat a woman like that!”

Anna squinted at him for a long moment, and he couldn't tell if she was perplexed or just trying to intimidate him (in which case, it was starting to work). He rubbed his finger along the seam of his trousers, feeling his palms begin to sweat.

_Should_ he have grabbed Belle and ravaged her? Milah had once told him he lacked passion, and he supposed he wouldn’t have minded it if _Belle_ had grabbed and ravaged _him._ Well, perhaps not _ravaged,_ that was a strong word with an ugly connotation. To _ravage_ something was to destroy and take away its beauty. But kissing Belle was an act of creation! Of making and _sharing_ beauty!

Regardless, she’d already kissed his cheek twice, and he’d just stood there and smiled, too stunned to reciprocate the gift of her affection.

“...I see.” Anna finally said.

Rumford blinked. “See what?”

“Nothing.” she shrugged him off with poorly performed nonchalance. “I just like, _totally_ get it now.”

He furrowed his brows.

Anna leaned in and pat him on the shoulder. “You guys are _perfect_ for each other.” she whispered.

“You... you think so?” he asked, his brows raising with the hope in his heart.

“Oh, yeah.” she nodded. “See, I like to people watch and play matchmaker? Kind of have a knack for it, because I can read people's auras. It's actually kind of a curse.” she shrugged. “Anyway, I always felt that someone like Belle– she's got a bright red and blue aura– she needs somebody who's _just_ as big of a nerd as she is. Someone who can keep up with her like, mentally. Not another person with a red or blue aura, though. Somebody with a pink one.”

Rumford nodded slowly, despite the fact that he had no clue what in God's name she was talking about.

“My only concern though, has always been– _does such a man exist?”_ she postured, stroking her chin contemplatively.

Rumford tilted his head and toed closer to her, rapt. “So you’re saying that you... you think– _I_ could be that man?”

She smiled. “Well, Rumford– can I call you Rumford?”

He looked up toward the ceiling and considered it for a moment. “...No.”

“Oh.” she frowned. “Well, Dr Gold. Your aura is _very_ pink, sir.”

“Pink?”

She leaned in and whispered, “The pinkest I've ever seen.”

He wrinkled his nose.

“And I know what you're thinking–” she added, holding her hands up in defense. “But I'm not just saying that because you're wearing a pink shirt. Because I'm _also_ seeing a bit of yellow?”

She started squinting at him again, and Rumford swallowed hard. His palms were definitely sweaty now, and he couldn't help fidgeting under her scrutiny. His eyes dragged themselves away to where Belle had walked off, but she wasn't there.

Anna tilted her head and drew a slow breath. “...Who hurt you?” she asked.

Oh, that was easy. His father, his ex-wife, his– _Wait._

“Wh-what?” he stammered, snapping his gaze back to her and cowering back.

“You have a fear of loss.” Anna said with a decisive nod. “Someone left you, or _is_ leaving you, and you're afraid–”

“Alright–” Rumford coughed, crossing his arms over his chest. “That's... quite enough of that, thank you.”

He turned away sharply and resumed his search for Belle. Surely she’d be back soon and could save him from this… odd girl and her preposterous ramblings about _auras._ What a sham! A pseudoscience at best!

_Him?_

_Abandonment issues?_

_What a joke!_

The only ‘issues’ he had were back issues of _The Magazine Antiques!_

So what if part of the reason he hadn't dated since the divorce was because he couldn't bear the thought of getting close to another person only for them to get bored of him later! Or die! That was perfectly normal!

….Wasn't it?

In any event, it didn't matter– because there she was! Belle! Making her way around the circulation desk!

She met his eyes with a smile that made his heartbeat jump to what was probably that target rate thing his doctor was always on about! At last, she returned to his side, looking up at him with sparkling eyes. “I’m ready when you are, Rumford.”

He nodded dumbly, and she took his hand, whisking him away. Rumford threw an uneasy glance over his shoulder as they headed for the door, finding the _demon girl_ staring him back.

Yes. The sooner he and Belle got outside, the better.

He had the mind to hold the door for her, and the fresh air was a welcome thing as they stepped out onto Main Street. However nice as the library had been, this was even better. Just him and Belle, enjoying an afternoon stroll through her quaint New England town. Charming little ma and pop shops filled the Craftsman style retail buildings that lined the street– a clothing boutique, a pharmacy, an ice cream parlor (ice cream parlor!), and an auto repair shop. Rumford found himself tempted to jot down the number for an available space across the street because they were all just so darn cute! And up ahead, in the distance– a cannery! When was the last time he’d seen one of those!

Belle cleared her throat. “So um… have you ever had a hamburger?”

Rumford glanced down to where she clung to his arm and nodded. “Yes, of course.”

The next sound to come out of her was a snort, and a hand flew up to cover her face. “I'm sorry– that was a silly question.” she laughed.

“Silly?” he asked. “No, no. It struck me as very thoughtful, very considerate of you.”

"But who _hasn't_ had a hamburger before!?” she said, and _oh, she was blushing!_

Rumford shrugged, belied by the smirk forming on his face. She was just too cute! He couldn’t help it! She was embarrassed though, and he had to remedy that.

“People who've been raised vegetarian or vegan, I suppose. Infants and toddlers? People who believe the cow to be a sacred animal. People who live in rural areas with geographical features that render it unsuitable for–”

She narrowed her eyes at him, cutting him off. “Well...” she smiled, “Granny's makes the best burgers in town.”

“Oh. Well see, in that case, one might argue that you haven't _really_ had a burger at all until you've tried one from Granny's.”

Belle pressed her lips together as she fought back another smile. “...Exactly.” She squeezed his hand then, tugging him towards the patio that had come up on their right.

It was as charming as everything else he'd seen so far. Little bistro tables. Sprawling ivy wrapping the building's facade in a timeless embrace. A sign out on the sidewalk announcing to passersby that today's special was lasagne.

“I thought we'd sit out on the patio.” she said, setting her purse on one of the tables. “It's um, nice outside and uh… well, the ivy and everything is kind of cozy and um…”

_"Romantic?”_ he finished for her. And goodness, how unlike him it was, how delightfully strange, to speak so plainly and without thinking!

Belle bit back a smile and nodded, pulling out a chair for him.

_And people thought chivalry was dead!_

Rumford wet his lips and smiled, taking his seat. “...Sounds perfect.”

She settled in the seat across from him, and in the time it took for them to review the menu and make their preliminary chit-chat about how his drive from Syracuse was, the front door swung open, revealing the town matriarch so affectionately known as _Granny._ The older woman quickly took Belle’s order of a cheeseburger (with extra pickles) and an iced tea. Then she turned to Rumford, prompting him with the arch of her brow.

“I’ll have the same.” he said, looking at Belle with a smile and reaching out to touch her hand. “I'm ah, told the burgers here are to die for.”

Belle giggled and glanced away, and Granny shot the pair of them a curious look. _"...right._ Two cheeseburgers it is then.” she said, and bustled back inside.

Belle propped her chin upon her elbow and smiled at him. Her lips parted once, twice, as if to say something– only for her to think better of it and turn away, a soft blush rising to her cheeks.

“What is it?” he finally asked.

“Nothing.” she shook her head, and her grin widened. He knew that face though– Any parent would. The face of a giddy child with a secret. She cast a sidelong glance in his direction nibbled her lip. “You um, look really handsome, is all.”

“Oh.” Rumford blinked and swallowed hard, shrinking back in his seat. “Th-thank you.”

“Pink just looks uh… really, really good on you.” she said with a nervous little chuckle, blushing and looking down at her place setting.

“Oh.” he said. Because accepting compliments was so hard!

Belle wet her lips and scoot forward. “It um… really brings out your eyes.”

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards that, and he wet this lips. His aunties always taught him that one kind word deserved another. “Well, I ah... think your _smile_ really brings out your eyes.”

_“Oh.”_ she giggled and looked down at her lap, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Yes, easier to deflect.

“And there it is,” he said, marveling at the sight of her. _“...Absolutely stunning.”_

She took moment to compose herself somewhat, then looked back up at him with her lips pressed together. Her eyes slowly swept down his chest, lingering on his heart. It seemed he wore it on the outside around her, where she could see it so plainly, but for some reason he didn't really mind.

“I um, really like your uh…” she trailed off and gestured at her chest.

“Oh. M-my pocket square?” he asked, raising his brows.

Belle nodded, folding her arms over the table. “It's pretty. I like the colors, they're fun.”

“Why thank you,” Rumford chuckled, glancing down at it briefly and smoothing out his tie. “I ah… thought so myself.”

_There._ Compliment accepted.

“I like the way you have it folded.”

“I-it's called a crown fold.” Rumford said. “I think it really helps show off the colorful trim on this one, ye know?”

Yes, much easier to accept a compliment on his clothing than a compliment on his person.

“Mhm.” she pouted her lips and tilted her head.

He hesitated a moment, then reached his hand up to pluck it out from his pocket. “Here, let me show you.” he smiled, unfurling it and laying it flat on the table.

Belle propped her chin upon her hand and hunched over, watching carefully as he folded it back up, quietly explaining the steps.

Once he was finished, she looked up and smiled at him. “May I try?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

Her grin widened and she unfolded the square again, slowly repeating all the steps as he'd demonstrated. It wasn't quite as neat as his own work, but the three little points were there all the same.

“How's that?” she asked.

“Perfect.”

She nibbled her lip and carefully picked it up, then stretched across the table, her arms reaching out toward him. Rumford leaned in with a smile, his heart soaring as she tucked the square back into his pocket.

_“...There.”_ she said, giving him a little pat on the chest before settling back in her seat.

“Oh, now that’s _much_ better.” he said, smiling down at it. “Thank you.”

“Mhm!” The tiniest of giggles escaped her and she nibbled her lip. She slowly reached her hand across the table, sliding it over his, and _oh! How delightful she was!_

Rumford twitched his fingers, tentatively lacing them with hers.

“This is nice.” Belle said.

“It is.”

“I'm just um… I'm really happy you're here.”

“So am I.”

The table fell silent for a minute as they simply smiled at each other. It was such a simple sentiment, but such a flattering one. His reaction to most people coming into his line of sight was usually something like, _oh bugger, not you again, what do you want?_ At best, he felt nothing. Completely neutral. Unless it was his boy, of course. His boy and Belle. The sight of them made him feel _good,_ and for Belle to express the sentiment that his presence made _her_ happy only made _him_ happier.

Something brushed against against Rumford's leg, and he frowned for an instant before checking under the table to see what it was. Belle giggled, and he saw that it was none other than her precious little foot.

“O- _oh.”_ he stammered and blushed, and she met his eyes, asking if her little game was welcome with a wiggle of her brows. A smile crept across his face and he wet his lips, and she nibbled hers– continuing to rub her ankle along his with a little more insistence.

_Such a little minx, she was!_

"Belle– hey!” a voice called out from the sidewalk, and the two of them jumped in their seats. They cleared their throats, Rumford adjusting his tie while Belle rolled her eyes and straightened her place setting.

“Oh, uh…” she mumbled belatedly, finally looking up at the tall, athletic man who was approaching their table. _“Greg!_ Um… what are you um… hi?”

“Yeah, I’m just out for a run.” he said, crossing an arm over his chest and stretching his shoulder. “You know, I try to do at least five miles a day.”

“Yeah…” Belle acknowledged half-heartedly. “How could I forget.”

“Yeah. You see, the thing about cardio is that you gotta–”

“Right, right. Cardio, yeah.” she nodded.

Greg stopped talking and took a deep breath. He lifted up the hem of his shirt, putting his six-pack and thick mat of chest chair on display as he used it to wipe the sweat from his face.

Rumford found himself unable to tear his eyes away, and he had to check in with himself for a moment to make sure it was out of revulsion, of some kind of morbid fascination, and not attraction. But no, no. Much to his relief, he had his face scrunched, his brows lowered, and the corners of his mouth pinched.

Definitely not attraction.

Because heaven forbid.

“So uh… who's your friend?” Greg asked, making a show of throwing his head back and pulling his hair out of his face.

Belle wrinkled her nose and looked back across the table with an assuring smile. “Rumford.” she said. _“Dr_ Rumford Gold.”

Suddenly Greg's smile no longer met his eyes. He blinked for a moment, then looked to Belle and pointed a finger at Rumford. “You mean–”

“Mhm.” Belle grinned, and Greg's mouth hung open.

Rumford watched the exchange between them, the entire conversation they seemed to be having with their eyes. A conversation Belle clearly seemed to have the upper hand in.

Greg finally acknowledged Rumford with a nod, for which he was relieved. He wasn't a germaphobe, but the prospect of shaking hands with a man as sweaty as him was far from an appealing one.

He attempted to rest a hand on Belle's shoulder, but she dodged him by scooting her chair away from him. He tried to play it off like he was just trying to stretch. Fooled no one.

“Yeah, me and uh, Belle here used to date, didn't we, Belles?” he said with a smug look on his face nonetheless.

Rumford covered his mouth and turned away to hide the amused grin on his face. _Smug!_ As if he'd just said something worth boasting about!

“How ah, unfortunate for you.” Rumford said once he'd collected himself.

Greg shifted his weight to the other foot and rubbed his forehead. “...Huh?”

“How unfortunate for you,” he repeated, “to have known and then lost the company of a woman as ah...” he propped his chin upon his fist and met Belle's gaze. _“...charming_ as Miss French.”

_“Rumford!”_ Belle let out a giggle and gave him a little smack on the wrist.

Greg clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well… not everyone can keep up with my intense schedule, you know?” he said, his words falling on deaf ears. “People don't realize how much time and work goes into maintaining this bod.”

Ignoring him, Rumford slid his hand over Belle's. “What can I say?” he cooed across the table, “You had me from the moment you said 'Gothic woodcut.’”

“Lotta people wanna look like this, but no one wants to put in the work, you know what I mean?” Greg continued over him.

Belle balled a fist over the corner of her mouth, trying to hide her smile. “Well, to be fair, you said it first…”

Rumford shook his head. “Oh, but _you_ said it better.”

“Oh, I don't know about that…” she giggled. “I could listen to you talk about the Catholic Church's influence on Western art all day…”

“Aye? Would you like that?” he asked, wetting his lips.

_“Rumford…”_ She blushed and glanced around the quiet patio, fingering at the neckline of her blouse. “Right now?”

“Well, I did ah… recently read a fantastic biography on Albrecht Dürer, that went into great detail about his relationship with the Catholic Church, the Protestant sympathies present in his work, and how he came to question the role of art in religion during the later years of his life.”

“Oh, that sounds fascinating. You'll have to give me the name so I can um, check it out.”

“Oh, certainly.”

“You know what?” Greg cut in, “I just realized I gotta go. I got invited to this big event. I think the mayor's supposed to be there. Anyway, I wouldn't want my heart rate to get down too much, standing around yapping like this, you know what I mean?”

“Mhm. Yeah.” Belle waved him off without a glance and inched closer to Rumford. “You know, if you wanted, I could um... tell you about my thesis on gynocentrism in Victorian literature.”

Rumford scoot his chair closer so he could lean further across the table. “That sounds incredible.”

“You um, you think so?”

“Oh, without a doubt. You know, I could ah… review it for you if you like.”

“Oh no.” Belle shook her head, the saccharine time in her voice suddenly gone. “I mean, you're welcome to _read_ it. It's just that while I acknowledge your vast qualifications in academia, I think letting you review my thesis in a professional capacity would introduce an imbalance of power to our um…” she paused to lick her lips and reached across the table to adjust his pocket square. _“...relationship.”_

Rumford shifted in his seat, inching closer.

“I'm confident in my work and while I appreciate your eagerness to help me succeed, I don't need your input or approval. It's important to me that I complete my Master's thesis on my own.”

Rumford let out a wistful sigh and shook his head. _Of course._ “You're absolutely right, Miss French. I _completely_ understand and respect your position on the matter. Forgive me for–”

_“Hey.”_ she cut him off, placing a hand over his. “It's Belle.”

He stared at her hand where it covered his own, and a smile crept across his face as his gaze drifted up to her bright blue eyes. _“...Belle.”_

She sighed and laced their fingers. _“...Rumford.”_

_Ah, yes._ This was it. The sort of thing the bards and troubadours used to sing about. She began to nibble her lip, and heavens, she had the sort of look in her eyes that simply _did things_ to a man. Made his palms sweat, his mouth dry, and his chest– nae, his entire body– feel all tingly. Did he have the same effect on her, he wondered?

Maybe the demon girl was right. Maybe he ought to... _lay one on her,_ as it were. Surely it was possible to do so without _ravaging_ her. There would be none of that, no no. But perhaps they could share another kiss like the one they’d shared in Boston. She had already scoot close enough to him. He just had to… go for it.

He reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. Wet his lips. Angled his head ever so slightly, subtly asking permission. Her eyes flicked down to his mouth and–

“Two cheeseburgers! Extra pickles!” Granny announced, and just like that, the primal connection between them was severed again.

Next time, he thought. Next time, he'd lay one on her.

Until then, there was delightful chatter about art and literature and all the magical qualities of ketchup. There was blushing and giggling and smiling, too, and they lingered at that cozy, romantic table long after their plates had been cleared. He offered to pay the bill, but Belle refused.

“You know,” Belle said, “if we leave now, we should be able to check out the art and farmer’s market before it closes.”

“Oh?”

She wrapped her arms around herself and stared down at that table. “It’s um, nothing like the flea market, but… it’s set up along the docks and there’s all kinds of uh… interesting things there.”

Rumford smiled. How shy she was being about it! As though she was worried she’d bore him! He’d go to the town dump with her if she so much as asked! Stare at a wall! Wait in line at the DMV!

“That sounds lovely.”

She looked up and brightened. “Okay.”

  
  


*****

  


She was right in that it was nothing like the flea market. There wasn’t the musty smell of everyone’s old, dusty things. No oppressive humidity trapped inside the heavy tarps, no dirt. Instead they tread over the docks, breathing in the open seaside air, surrounded by fruit stands and people selling fancy salad dressings, homemade jam, and paintings of the local landmarks. He smiled at the realization that the clocktower above the library– _Belle’s library–_ was by far the most popular subject.

“Stay right here–” Belle told him. “I’ll be right back.”

He nodded, watching her disappear through the crowd, and continued to admire the paintings. Most were done in a breezy, impressionist style, though there were a few others that were expressionist in style, which called to him more. It could make a nice souvenir, to bring one home. A painting of the clocktower. He could hang it up in his office at the shop. That way, when he was feeling low in spirit, he could look up, see Belle’s library, and get back to work with a smile. But they’d only just arrived, and the logistics of either carrying a painting around or leaving it and hoping not to forget it didn’t sit well with him. He’d come back for one before they left, he decided.

He looked over his shoulder and saw Belle skipping back over to him. She had a curious grin on her face and was holding her arms behind her back. He furrowed his brows at her when she made it back to his side.

“I got you something.” she chirped, and then she extended her arm out, holding a fresh cut rose in a rich, brilliant shade of magenta.

Rumford was taken aback. “F-for me?”

“Mhmm!” she nodded, holding it out further to him.

“Oh. Why… why thank you.” he stammered, feeling so much joy he wondered how he could contain it all in his slight frame. _No one had ever given him a flower before! And how special it felt!_ There was a little wetness in his eyes he had to wipe away before he could accept it from her. “It's beautiful.”

“I thought the pink would match your outfit.” she whispered, as though it were a secret.

Rumford smiled and glanced down at his chest. At his hot pink and his pinstripes and his tie and his pocket square with its rainbow trim. “Aye. Look at that.” he chuckled, and he realized how sore his cheeks had become.

“Would you like to wear it?” she asked, and he could tell by the glimmer in her eyes that she was hoping for a yes.

He nodded. “I would.”

Belle's grin widened and she plucked the rose back from his hands. “Come.”

He followed her back to the vendor’s table, where Belle asked them to trim it into a little boutonniere. She turned back to him and _oh,_ she was making that face again– his favorite, where she was trying so hard to hold back a toothy grin that she looked like she was enjoying a sour candy instead.

She slipped her fingers under the lapel of his jacket, finding the little button hole there, and slid the little bit of stem though it. Her brows knit together as she fussed with it a bit. Once she was satisfied with the placement, she gave him a finishing pat on the chest and a peck on the cheek that she had to reach up on her toes for.

“There.” she said. “Now you look _extra_ handsome.”

_“Extra_ handsome?” he repeated, arching his brow.

“Mhm.” she said, draping her arms over his shoulders. “The most handsome gentleman in town.”

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards and he wet his lips. “We must make quite a pair then,” he said. “Because you are certainly the most handsome woman in town.”

Belle rolled her eyes, but it was a playful roll, an amused one. She wet her lips, and her eyes drifted downwards, and when she cocked her head to the side, he knew what was coming.

Rumford lowered his head, and Belle reached up on her toes, and that was how they kissed. Lightly, briefly– but it was wonderful all the same.

Her hand slid down his arm to take his own, and she smiled. “Come on,” she said.

Oh, yes. He felt like the _prettiest_ peacock now– with a token of affection from the most delightful woman in the world fixed to his chest while she herself lead him through the market by the hand. Surely his train of feathers was the longest, the brightest, the fullest, to have earned the doting affections of someone as remarkable as Belle, and he intended to flaunt his plumage so that everyone would know it.

He followed after her with his chin up and his shoulders back, not minding all the jealous looks he was sure he was receiving. _Who’s that handsome devil in the pinstripes? You know, the stylish fellow in the hot pink shirt with the perfectly coordinated tie, pocket square, and boutonniere? The one enjoying an afternoon stroll with Belle French?_

Wouldn't they like to know!

Belle’s pace suddenly slowed and she cleared her throat. “So um, I want to make you dinner tomorrow night.” she told him. “But… well, I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook, and I don't know what to make you…”

Rumford drew a hand over his heart and gaped at her, speechless. First she gave him a flower, and now she wanted to _cook_ for him?

She looked down at her feet and wrapped an arm around herself. “Anyway, um, I was wondering, if uh… well, I took out a bunch of cookbooks from the library and I saw lots of things that looked good… But then I was worried that I'd mess it up and basically, I was wondering how you felt about meatloaf?”

“Meatloaf?” he asked. Why, what could be better for their first home cooked meal together than the classic comfort food?

“I know.” she chuckled apologetically and shook her head. “It's just, well, my mom used to make it for my dad all the time and it's basically the only thing I–”

“I would love nothing more.” he blurted.

Food was a language of love, and if Belle's mother expressed it with meatloaf, then he would be nothing short of honored if Belle wanted to prepare it for him.

“Oh.” she smiled and eased her shoulders. “Okay. Meatloaf it is, then.”

“Meatloaf it is.”

“Then I guess I ought to pick up a few things while we're here.” she said, fishing one of those collapsible little shopping bags out of her purse.

He nodded, and as he fought back a smile, he realized her sour candy face was becoming contagious.

Her grip on his hand tightened and she spun around, leading him to one of the vendors further ahead. She picked for herself an onion, a clove of garlic, and a stalk of celery, then tugged him toward another booth for bunches of parsley and sage.

It was such a pleasant thing, shopping for groceries together. He and Milah used to do the shopping together when they had first gotten married, when even the most ordinary things were still an adventure. But over time, the task had fallen to him and him alone. Food was love and food was family to him, though– that was how his aunties had raised him, and so he couldn't help finding a sort of magic in watching Belle plan a meal for him, and the enthusiasm with which she did it.

A sweet and tempting aroma came from the next stall over. Cookies, pastries, muffins and things. A basket of oatmeal cookies caught his eye, and there was no looking away.

Belle caught him then, and leaned into his shoulder. “What would you like?”

He scoffed and could feel his face grow flushed. No, no. She was being far too sweet to him. He needed to show off his plumage in some way, no matter how small.

He turned to her, relieved her of her groceries, and tentatively wrapped his other arm around her waist. Her eyes gleamed as she settled against his side, and there was that sour candy face again, and he tried his damnedest not to do it too. Sure, _she'd_ charmed him with it, but he didn't want to simply _charm_ her. He would _woo_ her. Sweep her off her feet. Play the role of master of seduction. _Masterfully._

“No, no…” he lowered his head to murmur into her ear. “What would _you_ like?”

“The white chocolate raspberry cookies are my favorite.” she answered right away.

He blinked, a bit thrown by her blunt response, but returned his best crooked smirk nonetheless. “...Then the white chocolate raspberry cookies you shall have.” he purred, stepping forward and getting the vendor’s attention.

“What can I get for you today, sir?” the young man behind the counter asked, pulling on a new pair of gloves.

“A dozen of the white chocolate raspberry cookies, please.”

“Dozen white chocolate raspberry…” the man repeated, counting them into a little box. “Anything else?”

Rumford glanced down to where Belle clung to his shoulder and raised a brow.

“And some salted chocolate chunk and almond cookies.” she said, and cleared her throat. “A um… a dozen.”

Rumford blinked again and hesitated. Shook his head and turned back to the vendor. “Well, I believe you heard the lady.” he chuckled.

“Dozen salted chocolate almond… will that be all, sir?”

“Oh!” Belle chirped. “Do you have those um… mint chocolate chip cookies? Or are those just a seasonal thing?”

_Mint chocolate chip cookies?_ The little minx! She remembered!

“Yeah, we got ‘em.”

“A dozen of those.” Rumford blurted before he could stop himself. Completely powerless against the decadent combination of mint and dark chocolate, he was.

“You got it.” the man nodded, readying another box. “Anything else I can get for you today?”

“And ah…” Rumford cleared his throat. “A dozen of the ah… oatmeal cookies.”

“The plain oatmeal?” the vendor asked. “We also have cherry-almond, lavender chocolate chip, raisin, cranberry maple pecan, and ginger spice.” he listed out, pointing to each of the trays.

“Ah…”  

“I can give you a sampling of them all, sir.” he grinned. “If you can’t decide.”

“Yes.” Rumford nodded, relaxing his shoulders. “Yes, that would be perfect, please. Thank you.”

He felt Belle nestle closer against him and smiled down at her. Yes, he’d buy her every cookie they had if she so desired. And just as many for himself.

With their absurd amount of cookies boxed, paid for, and stowed into Belle’s oversized tote, they continued on their way. After they’d made it through the many stalls of local produce, honey, and baked goods, there were vendors offering artisanal soaps, candles, and things. Rumford wasn’t one to simply walk past scented personal care products though, so they lingered at one such stall, taking turns sniffing and agreeing and disagreeing which soaps smelled best.

He didn’t hesitate to buy her a soap bar and bath bomb set that smelled like roses. They were garnished with little buds and bits of petals, making them look like works of art. Belle also seemed to like a another pair that was scented with lilac and ginger, and so he bought that for her too.

Rumford wasn’t actually sure what a bath bomb was, but after some convincing on Belle and the vendor’s part, he purchased a set for himself that smelled of black tea, bergamot, and lavender. It was quite cutely named _Mr Darcy_ and Belle assured him that it would smell “really sexy” on him. How could he argue with that?

Besides, it wasn't as though he was any stranger to giving himself a nice pampering now and again.

He wasn’t much for candles however, and none of the jewelry suited either of their tastes, so they continued onward until finding a vacant bench overlooking the ocean, not far from the pleasant sounds of a musician playing guitar.

They sat close, and Rumford wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He didn't even have to think about it. Just did it. She snuggled up close, looked up at him with a smile, and wet her lips. Oh, yes. This was going to be it, wasn't it? A passionate kiss at sunset, witnessed by the sea.

“Can you take out the cookies?” she asked.

“Oh. Ah… yes. Yes, of course.” he stammered, shaking his head.  He turned to his side and began digging the boxes out of the bag. “Your white chocolate raspberry?”

“Mhm.” she answered. “And the um… rest of them.”

He scoffed. “Naturally.”

She had him try one of her white chocolate raspberry cookies, and he could immediately understand why they were her favorite once the fabulous symphony of flavor canvassed his tongue.

He opened up his box of mint chocolate chip cookies then, grinning at her for her thoughtfulness as he plucked one out of the box. “Would you like one?”

She nodded, and she shifted on the bench a little, turning to face him better.

_Cheeky, cheeky, thing._

He brought the cookie up to her lips, and she took a healthy bite out of it, closing her eyes. A little moan escaped her as she chewed, and _Gods–_ had he ever desired anyone so?

She was kind, intelligent, beautiful, funny and  sweet, yes. But had he ever known a woman so in touch with her own sensuality? He thought not.

A gooey chocolate chip clung to her bottom lip, and it remained there after her tongue had poked out to lick the crumbs away. Rumford reached out and brushed it off with his thumb– _and how soft and plump her lips were!_ He popped it into his mouth and sucked the chocolate off, earning him a heated look from Belle. Pupils wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed. He would remember they way she looked right now forever, and how it made him feel. Wanted, special, covetable.

She nibbled her lip and finally tore her gaze away so she could open the other box. The salted chocolate chunk and almond cookies. Her delicate hand hovered over the neatly packed row of cookies, seeming to hesitate to choose despite them all being the same. At last, she made her choice and held it up to his mouth.

He nodded and leaned forward, closing his eyes and letting her feed it to him. And _oh!_ What an indulgence it was! He let out a moan, paying no mind to the cascade of crumbs that fell between them as he took a bite.

They'd done this before, he realized. With her churro that perfect evening in Boston. How naive he'd been then! Shying away from the majesty of desire! But no, no. He wouldn't be a scared fool this time, there would be no abrupt insistence about how late the hour had become, no rushing home.

He swallowed and wet his lips. Shifted on the bench and cupped her cheek. “You know,” he murmured, mouth curled into a little smirk, “we ah… still have six different varieties of oatmeal cookies to try...”

She scoot closer to him and licked her lips. “Let's start with the cherry almond.”

  
  


*****

  
  


Never in her life had Belle ever felt as adored and desirable as she did every moment spent in Rumford’s company. He was such a gentleman, so thoughtful, so shy and sweet, and yet– so seductive. She could have sworn he’d trembled when she whispered in his ear to tell him what a bath bomb was. And she'd trembled too, when he wiped that chocolate from her lip.

They'd made love on that bench, feeding each other oatmeal cookies. Belle was sure of it.

The way she'd taken the tip of his finger between her lips as he served her the cranberry maple pecan, and he'd just watched and let it linger there. The most erotic experience of her life, for sure.

There'd been quick kisses shared here and there. Playful teasing. Gentle touches on the arm, the cheek, and the hands. But soon the many booths began packing up, the crowds began to thin out, and the sun had finished setting. Now, it seemed, it was just them. Her and Rumford, walking along the docks hand in hand, the gentle crashing of the ocean waves their only companion.

All that to say: romance was in the air.

Their conversation had slowed, dissipated into silence. But it was amiable, not stilted. He seemed to be tired, no doubt from the long drive he'd taken in the morning to get here. But that was just fine. They didn't have to talk. It was nice to just _be_ with him, she found.

A cold breeze swept over the docks, and Belle clung to him more closely.

“Here–” he said, beginning to pull away. He set their bag down and unbuttoned his jacket and–

_Oh God, yes._

He was giving her his jacket!

Belle's heart thumped in her chest. This was it!   _This_ was romance! The sort of thing she'd fawned over in books and movies but never happened in real life. She'd fantasized about it back in Boston, but it hadn't been cold enough. But now? She had the cool ocean breeze on her side!

Rumford gestured for her to turn around, holding his jacket open for her to slip her arms inside. She bit back hard on her smile and put it on.

Oh, it was so toasty from his body heat, she couldn't help closing her eyes and letting out a content little hum as it warmed her. She spun around to face him, catching a strong whiff of his cologne and the thoroughly pleasant sight of him in his vest. He rubbed his hands along her arms to warm her up, and for a fleeting moment, fainting right there on the docks seemed like a very real possibility.

“How's that?” he asked.

Belle nodded dumbly. Oh, how she ought to just take him home and– _mmph!_ Such a fine hunk of man!

“Better?” His eyes searched hers, making sure, and he was so close, and so cute, and that vest. How well it fit!

She swallowed and nodded again. “Thank you. But… well, you won't be cold now, will you?”

“I'll be fine, sweetheart.” he smiled, taking her hand.

_Oh, he was going to kiss it again, wasn’t he?_

“Cold, I can bear. Your discomfort, I cannot.”

_Oh, he totally was!_

Up to his lips he brought it, pressing a delicate kiss to her knuckles.

And _sweetheart!_

Belle bounced on her toes. He'd just called her sweetheart!

His expression suddenly seemed frozen, and oh, he must be realizing the same thing she was. The milestone they'd just crossed. _Sweetheart. Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart!_

“You um… you just called me sweetheart.” she said. In case he hadn't noticed.

“Oh, I… I suppose I did.” he blushed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Do you min–”

_“No.”_ she blurted and grabbed his hand. “I mean, not at all, why would you think that?” she corrected herself, immediately deciding it actually wasn't much of an improvement.

Rumford blinked. “Oh, I-I...”

“I'm sorry.” Belle shook her head. “I meant, I don't mind if you call me sweetheart. Because I like it.” she said, and she was definitely starting to ramble– but how could she not? “I like it a lot. ...Being your sweetheart.”

An adorable smile bloomed across his face then, and Belle felt like her heart would combust.

“A-alright…” he stammered, and there was a little chuckle of disbelief. “S-sweetheart.”

“I can–” she fidgeted, her body teeming with the overwhelming urge to grab him and squeeze him and tear that vest off. Her hands reached out on their own to cup his face, but she had the mind to stop herself. “Can I–?”

He nodded, seeming to understand exactly what she was feeling. “You can.”

Belle nibbled her lip and took a deep breath. Cupped his stupid, perfect face in her hands, and laid one on him.

Laid one on him real good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *blows y'all kisses*


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumford does some self-reflecting. Belle… tries to not completely freak out over what might happen after she makes him dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split this chapter in two because 1) it was getting ridiculously long, and 2) I didn't have as much time to polish off the second half of it this week as I thought I would.
> 
> So... the rest will be up in about 2 weeks.

Dr Rumford Gold had a smile on his face as he unlocked the door to his room at the inn. He could still feel the lingering tingle on his lips from where Belle had kissed him goodnight.

Setting down the bag of goodies he'd picked up at the market, he toed off his oxfords and shrugged off his jacket– mindful of the boutonniere Belle had given him as he hung it back up. He plucked the flower from the lapel and brought it to his nose to take a sniff, letting the velvet soft petals caress his lips for a moment before crossing the room and setting it down on the nightstand.

He paced back over to the mirror as he undid his tie, and he smiled at his reflection, noting all the places Belle had kissed him throughout the day. His cheek, his temple, his lips, his cheek again, his lips again. They had largely been small, delicate things, but then? Then was that kiss on the docks that had taken his breath away.

He finished undressing, and when he came face to face with his bared reflection, he wondered how it might tingle if Belle were to kiss him in some other places. The neck. The chest. The shoulder.

Would she like those parts of him? He wasn't anything special, really. Not under his suits. His tummy was soft and untoned, his chest diminutive, his legs thin and a little knobby. But Belle seemed to like everything else she'd seen of him so far.

Oh, she seemed to like everything else _very_ much.

She'd been very generous with compliments on his eyes, his hair, his nose, his hands, and had even gone so far as to praise his bottom earlier. They'd just finished kissing– yes, _that_ kiss– and were wrapped in each other's arms when he felt her hands reach down and smooth over his backside. She'd given him a little pat, and when he arched a brow at her, she giggled, apologized, said that it was _cute_ in her defense.

Rumford smiled at himself and glanced at the bag from the market. There were a few cookies left, and the fancy little soaps Belle had picked out for him.

 _“This would smell really sexy on you,”_ she'd told him– a sweet little murmur in his ear.

Rumford rifled through the bag and dug them out. One a fairly ordinary looking bar of soap, and the other a curious powdery ball about the size of a plum.

 _“You just drop it in the bath,”_ the vendor had told him.

And so he did.

He chuckled as he watched it fizz, filling the bathroom with the smell of black tea and bergamot, and the warm tub with swirls of grey. He carefully stepped in and eased himself into the water, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. His new scent. That Belle had chosen for him.

So, _their_ scent.

It was such a sensual, intimate thing, wasn't it? Wearing a particular scent with a lover in mind?

He once had a special cologne he'd wear for Milah. He'd come home from the shop and she used to come to the door, breathing him in as she leaned in for a big kiss to welcome him home.

Of course, the big welcomes home eventually stopped, but he could no longer bring himself to wear it their cologne once he found out that her heart no longer belonged to him. Since then, it had been a different cologne, one he'd picked out on his own. And while Rumford was no stranger to the joys of pampering himself, he found there wasn't really any fun in wearing a fragrance without a lover to wear it _for._

But tonight, he splashed the perfumed water over his face and sank further into the tub with a smile.

_Belle._

He'd happily douse himself in eau d’low tide if she so wished. But she didn't. No, no. She'd picked out black tea, bergamot, and lavender. It was the sort of thing he might pick out for himself, and the thought made his heart flutter. The thought that she already had such a terrific sense of what suited him.

The water eventually cooled to below what Rumford considered enjoyable, and so he climbed out of the tub and toweled off, delighting in the fleeting traces of his new scent as he dried his hair.

The neatly made bed called to him once he stepped out of the bathroom, and he stared hesitantly at his bag. His pajamas were folded inside, but, well, he felt so clean and fresh and soft! It'd be a crime to cover up so soon! Perhaps…

Perhaps tonight, he thought, he could forgo his pajamas.

And so it was decided, then.

Rumford Gold was going to let himself slip beneath the covers wearing absolutely nothing _._ Completely bare-arsed. Let the crisp linens and cool air touch his bare skin. Let himself feel a little sexy.

After all, when was the last time he'd felt sexy?

He supposed he felt a little sexy when he and Milah were young and in love. How they'd study together, and she'd flirt with him, and he'd blush and insist they get back to their work. How she would tease him, kiss him, undo a button or two on his shirt, take off her own. Anything to distract him until he was all hers.

She'd found him cute then. He was a few years older, and he imagined she liked that, at her age. Being able to make an ‘older’ man blush. It felt silly, in retrospect– but what was youth if not full of silliness?

Then came Neal though, and they married, and it all sort of crumbled away. After that, he had no reason to feel sexy, really. He had a boy to raise, work to do, and a wife who wasn't interested in him anymore.

But Belle.

He felt sexy around her.

And when he slipped into bed and felt those crisp sheets against his skin, he couldn't help wondering what it might feel like to have _her_ skin against his skin. How she might lay a hand over his chest, rest her head on his shoulder, and peck him on the cheek like she was always doing. How that hand might wander idly across his belly– in no hurry to be anywhere in particular. Content to simply be _touching_ him.

Rumford brought up the hand that had been lying at his side and laid it flat over his chest, over his cool, exposed skin, and took a deep breath. His nipple had pebbled in the chilly air, and he tentatively drummed his fingers over it, delighting in the tingle every time the pad of a finger happened to make contact.

He was playing coy with himself, but it just felt wrong to think of Belle. They hadn't been intimate yet.

_Yet._

No, he didn't want to think of Belle. Not now. because it wouldn't really be Belle. Rather, some fictitious version of her he'd be making up.

No, no. He wouldn't think of anyone in particular. Just close his eyes and enjoy the sensation of his own touch. On his tummy, his arms, his neck. Maybe even _there,_ if the spirit moved him.

This unusual sexiness he felt– he owed it to himself to explore it, didn't he?

He dragged his fingertips over his belly, again and again, gradually inching closer to the sensitive little nub of his nipple each time. Closed his eyes and slowly let himself rub a finger over it. Belle's face appeared in his mind’s eye though, and he clenched them tight, willing her away– because no, no, no.

She'd be no part of this. Not yet. This was about him and him alone. This was about Rumford Gold learning to feel sexy again for the first time in fifteen years.

He started again, shifting against the pillows as he relaxed into it. Slid a hand down to the smooth skin of his pelvis. It tingled, and Gods, how he felt like a teenager!

There was Belle, again, and he shooed her away. A second time, a third time, again and again. But then another face began to take her place, and Rumford blanched.

He tugged the covers back up to his chin and laid his hands at his sides, because no, no, no.

He didn't want to think of Belle, but he _definitely_ didn't want to think of Jefferson.

He ought to stop this foolishness– to put his pajamas on and forget about this ridiculous feeling sexy business. But the air was so cool, the bed so warm, and his pajamas were still folded in his bag, which seemed so terribly far away in the dark.

_Dr Jefferson Bellamy._

What was so great about him, anyway?

Tosser, is what he was.

Pretentious tosser.

So what if he had a great smile that had always made him feel… _silly?_

Belle’s was better.

Belle's made him feel _twice_ as silly!

But could you imagine?

Him and Jefferson? On a date?

He'd probably want to go to that Japanese place on Third, so he could have an excuse to brag about the year he spent in Japan and go on about how the food wasn't authentic enough. Probably wear one those stupid cravats of his. That scarlet one that brought out his eyes.

God, what an arse.

Who wore a _cravat?_ Honestly?

Well, to be perfectly fair, the things _did_ draw attention to his throat. To the swell of his Adam's apple.

Rumford swallowed.

Shite.

They _had_ gone on a date, hadn't they?

Not to the Japanese place on Third, no. But the Colombian one on Fifth. And he _had_ worn a cravat. A purple one.  


**Six years ago  
** **Gold's shop**

_“There's this lovely new Colombian place on Fifth I'm hearing rave things about.” Jefferson said._

_Rumford looked up from the book he’d brought in this time and smiled. Jefferson always seemed to be in the know about all sorts of things. The best restaurants, the most compelling films, the most difficult novels to put down. He had his head turned, admiring something on the shelves, and he looked so stately like that, Rumford thought. He often had the thought that he could have been a model, Jefferson. Yes. He had the sort of looks one could expect to see in a magazine ad for designer cologne._

_He could always depend on Jefferson to bring him something fascinating to work on. Whenever he got a text or email saying to expect him, Rumford couldn't help smiling– eager to see what he had in store. Something old, something rare, something highly sought. And the man himself was… amusing. There was that, too._

_“I'd like to go, but you know–” Jefferson sighed, looking back over the counter at him. “There's just no fun in eating alone, and I'm afraid my dear Grace isn't interested._

_“Aye,” Rumford scoffed, “can't get Neal to eat anything other than pasta, pizza, or chicken most nights.”_

_Jefferson barked out a laugh and leaned over the counter, propping his chin upon his fist. Watched while Rumford continued to inspect the book. The condition of the cover, the binding. Rumford could sense it though, the moment those eyes swept up to look at his face, and he did his best to act like he didn't notice._

_“You know, Gold… why don't the two of us go?” Jefferson asked. “Friday night. What do you say?”_

_“Oh, Ah-I dunno…” Rumford chuckled, cheeks burning as he focused harder on the book._

_It was already Monday._

_Friday night was this Friday._

_He didn't have plans or anything– he never did– but that was much too short notice._

_Maybe next, next Friday._

_“Come on…” Jefferson pressed. “It's criminal of you, you know. To look that good in a suit and not flaunt it with the occasional night on the town. You never know who might want to buy you a drink.”_

_He finally looked up from the book, mouth agape, and Jefferson winked._

_Rumford cleared his throat, righting his posture. “...Not half as criminal as what you're wearing.” he joked, gesturing dismissively at his outfit. It was some regency-inspired affair with a brocade vest and slightly ruffled sleeves. The comment was perhaps a little harsh, but he always felt compelled to turn up his snark around Jefferson. This innate desire to prove himself smart and witty around him. To have him think, “Aye, that Rumford Gold is a sharp bloke.”_

_Jefferson pouted his lips, and Rumford wet his own. His mouth was… distracting? His lips always looked so full and pink, to the point that he often found himself staring._

_Jefferson cleared his throat. “So what do you think?” he asked, darting his eyes down to the book._

_“O-oh–” Rumford blinked and stammered._

_Yes, that was why he was here, after all. For an estimate._

_“A-about three hundred, three-fifty?” Rumford said. “I’d… recondition the leather for you, reattach the board, and restore the pages. You've got a lot of tears I'd have to patch up with document tape, which is where the lot of my time would go.”_

_“Hm. Is that all?” Jefferson said. “You know Gold, you don't have to give me the handsome devil discount.”_

_Rumford arched a brow at him and smirked. “...You're damned right I don't.”_

_Jefferson grinned. “Well, I'll leave this one with you, then.” he said, patting the cover. “I trust you'll work all the right magic with those hands of yours.”_

_“Will do.” Rumford nodded, and he glanced down at his hands and smiled. He'd just gotten a manicure on Saturday after all, and they did look quite nice. “I'll ah… give you a call when it's ready?” he said, raising his brows. “In about two weeks?”_

_“I look forward to it.” Jefferson said, standing upright and looking back at the shelves again. At a mirror, actually. “But ah... until then? Friday night? You and I?”_

_Rumford hesitated, watching Jefferson as he gave his vest a quick tug and busied himself with the pin in his cravat._

_“...Sure.” he said. “Friday night.”_

_Jefferson gave himself a finishing pat and looked back over to him, his blue eyes gleaming. His brows creased at first, but then the corner of his mouth slowly curled into a smile. “...Fabulous.” he said, and there was something in his tone that was different. Something less certain, less confident. Relief? Surprise, perhaps? “I– I'll put in a reservation, then.”_

_“Aye.” Rumford nodded, and a sudden self-consciousness overcame him, compelling him to look away, back down at the book again._

_“I'll… give you a call?” Jefferson asked, and that uncertain sound was still there. “Tomorrow? Let you know what time?”_

_Rumford smoothed a hand over the book cover and wet his lips. He was smiling, but he didn't really know what for, and it was a stubborn thing, too. He shook his head and looked back up at Jefferson. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Please. Do.”_

_“Right. Well… good afternoon, then. Dr Gold.” he said, and sauntered out the door._

 

Rumford blinked up at the ceiling. That had definitely been a date.

Dr Bellamy had asked him out on a date. And he'd said yes, and spent that entire Friday evening oblivious to the fact.

If only he'd known then what he knew now! He most _certainly_ would have gone on a date with Jefferson! He was handsome! Witty! Charming! With gorgeous eyes, perfect lips, and an equally perfect chin!

Well, he supposed that technically, he _had_ gone on a date with him.

But still!

He could have held his hand! Flirted and laughed at his jokes a little more! Fed him a spoonful of his _Ajiaco_ in exchange for a forkful of his _Lechona!_ Given him a kiss goodnight! Called him afterwards to let him know what a lovely time he had and how he'd like to do it again!

Had they been dating, they could have snuck secret kisses, tempting looks, and fleeting touches across the counter every time he stopped by the shop with another book!

What a handsome pair they'd have been, too!

Him, the timid antiquities dealer, and Jefferson, the gregarious literature professor. They'd have attended every gala, every opera premier together. And when museums invited them to the gallery openings Rumford had been contracted to do restorations for, Jefferson– the life of the party that he was– he wouldn't be able to resist making a toast to ensure that everyone knew whose handiwork they were admiring. Oh, it would name him blush, and Jefferson would tell him not to be so modest– to just let him have his little moment of pride where he could make it abundantly clear to everyone in attendance who would be going home with whom that night.

Rumford chuckled to himself in the quiet of the room. At what could have been.

 _Gods,_ it was like the story auntie Ainsley would tell him about how it took two and a half years for her to ask Edith on a proper date! How she wasn't sure if she was actually interested in women or not in spite of the mountain of evidence pointing to, _‘most definitely a lesbian woman who likes other women and is not at all interested in men because she is a lesbian who is not in any way heterosexual.’_

Well, perhaps not _quite_ like that. His obliviousness had been of a different variety. The thing he'd been oblivious about was himself!

Him! Rumford Gold! Bisexual!

Completely infatuated with a man and being too bloody stupid to realize it at the time!

Sure, he'd acknowledged it a few times in passing over the past month, since Neal had made that little comment over the phone. But he hadn't really given himself a moment to _reflect_ on it yet, had he?

No, no, not until now.

The thought of holding hands with and kissing and cuddling and making love to a beautiful woman like Belle made him feel warm and fuzzy inside– but so did the thought of doing all of those things with a beautiful man!

He felt the sudden desire to pick up his phone and call them. His aunties. They'd get a laugh out of it, wouldn't they? Their little Rum. Bisexual.

But no, he'd have to settle with the knowledge that they were probably looking down and laughing with him.

Perhaps Neal? He'd see the humor in it, surely. His boy was always finding the humor in things. It seemed a bit odd, though. “Hi son. Just calling to let you know that your fourteen year-old self was right: your father is attracted to men after all!”

But _oh!_ This felt good!

This felt very good!

It was like the time he finally found that old watchspring on the floor in his office, months after he'd given up looking for it. He'd already replaced it with another, of course– but its discovery still delighted him all the same!

Gods, what other watchsprings did he still have lying around on the floor? He thought and thought and thought, but couldn't find any.

Maybe David?

He was a handsome fellow, but– _no, no,_ Rumford quickly decided. Handsome as he was, he didn't want to kiss him. He wanted to _be_ like him. The sort of man everyone liked and wanted to be friends with.

But oh, perhaps the sheriff.

Sheriff Graham Humbert. Rumford could remember being a little tongue-tied last year, when he'd stopped by the shop to take his statement after Tilly had stolen those watches. He could remember feeling a bit tickled when he'd dropped by again a month later, too. A courtesy visit, he'd called it. A routine thing to follow up.

Yes, sheriff Humbert was a strapping fellow. Scruffy, rugged thing– yet with a softness, a gentle way about him. Holding hands and cuddling up to the sheriff every night, one would feel protected and safe, too! They'd have complemented each other well, wouldn't they? The polished art historian with a taste for the finer things, and the rough and sensible officer of the law.

 _Oh yes,_ Rumford thought. Sheriff Humbert... He wouldn't have minded a chance to kiss _him!_

He caught himself smiling and threw a hand over his mouth. Here he was, being silly again! But for the first time in how long?

Forever, it seemed!

Rumford shook his head and rolled to his side, toward the nightstand. The rose from Belle sat there, looking back at him, and he smiled at it, recalling how cute she’d been earlier.

 _“There,”_ she'd said as she fixed it to his lapel. “Now you look _extra_ handsome.”

Rumford reached out and plucked it off of the nightstand, twirling it in his fingers.

Next to Belle, he felt– well, how _did_ he feel, exactly?

He felt… _good,_ around her. Like the world was more beautiful with his hand in hers.

He wanted to be his best self around her, but he didn't feel like he _needed_ to be. How many times had he fumbled awkwardly in front of her? Found himself at a loss for words? Yet she never had anything less than a brilliant smile for him.

He felt nervous, but the good kind of nervous. Was that what people meant when said they were excited? Because he'd never really known excitement before. It was always, always nerves. Always anxiety. All that energy buzzed inside of him when he thought of Belle too– but instead of just making his tummy feel twisty, it also made his heart feel tingly.

Yes, he looked forward to every moment spent with Belle. Every time he thought of her, it was as though he'd just scooped a load of fresh laundry out of the dryer. Warm, soft, snuggly bliss from his head down to his toes!

And oh, was she beautiful. Those crystal blue eyes that sparkled when she smiled. Her cute little nose! Those round cheeks! Those pouty lips and how she just couldn't stop nibbling them!

Oh, the nibbling was starting to put thoughts in his head! Why should she have all the fun, after all? He wanted to nibble them too!

And then there was her hair! So soft and wavy and lustrous– and how beautiful might those chestnut locks look, tousled and sprawled across the pillows while she lie on her back? He'd lean over her, and she'd smile her perfect smile. He'd dip down to press his lips to hers– and for that moment, all the happiness in the world would be contained within their two hearts!

Rumford brushed the rose against his lips again and sighed.

Yes, he could hardly wait to kiss Belle again.

The fretful personal property appraiser and the sweet librarian with the infectious _joie de vivre._ That was a winning combination, for certain.

Rumford pressed a kiss to the rose and set it back on the nightstand, his gaze lingering on it as he shifted under the covers, tugging them back up to his chin. He settled with a contented sigh, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face.  
  


*****

  


Ruby woke slowly on Sunday morning. She didn't open her eyes right away, instead just shifting in bed and re-positioning her face so that her girlfriend's thick, wavy hair wasn't tickling her nose. Settling her head back down on the pillows, she wrapped her arms around Dorothy a little more tightly.

A few quiet minutes went by, and she accepted the fact that she wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep, so she opened eyes and smiled at her surroundings. They were starting to become familiar– the bookshelf crammed with DVDs, the closet unit that was overflowing with swaths of clothing, the privacy shade that was perpetually drawn down, the fluffy dog on the foot of the bed.

As if reading her mind, Marlene got up on all four paws and climbed over. Ruby scowled as the dog sniffed and licked at her face, laughing despite herself.

“Marlene, knock it off.” Dorothy grumbled, reaching her arm out from under the covers to give the dog a light smack on the bottom.

“Oh good, you're awake.” Ruby smiled, peeking over her shoulder to peck her on the temple.

Marlene happily spun around and began giving Dorothy her attention instead.

She sputtered and swat the dog away as she lapped at her face. “Go! Get down!” Dorothy said, finally sitting up bed.

Marlene dropped and rolled onto her back, paws reaching up in the air.

“No…” Dorothy warned. “No rubs. Get down.”

“Aww, come on!” Ruby laughed, combing her hand through the dog’s lush coat. “She's so _cute,_ and soft…”

Dorothy scoffed and narrowing her eyes at the dog. “I'm starting to think she likes you more than she likes me.

“Uh... of course she does.” Ruby said. “I'm awesome and I give good rubs?” She smiled at Marlene and rubbed a hand over her belly roughly, making her hind leg kick. “Isn't that right, you pretty doggy!? Look at you! You like that, huh?”

Dorothy rolled her eyes and threw the covers off of her body, climbing out of bed.

Ruby paused and looked up, and Marlene began pawing at her hand, begging for more. “Where you goin’?”

“Gotta pee. And then… breakfast?” Dorothy smiled.

“In bed?” she asked, wiggling her brows.

“I thought we’d go to the diner.” Dorothy suggested, heading towards the door. Marlene hopped off the bed and was at her heels in an instant.

“Yeah but… then I'd have to put pants on.” Ruby pouted.

She stopped in the doorway and looked over her shoulder at her. “I’m listening...”

“What? That's it.” Ruby shrugged. “I don't wanna put pants on.”

Dorothy snorted and rolled her eyes.

“There’s also the part where I work at a diner? Kinda ruins the appeal.”

Dorothy chuckled and shook her head, continuing to the bathroom, but Ruby didn't miss the smile on her face as she left. She rolled over to the nightstand and checked her phone, finding a very expected text from Belle.

_“Call me!!!”_

Ruby smiled and tapping the dial button. The line hardly rang a second time before Belle picked up.

“Ruby!” she shouted over the phone.

She shifted onto her side and got comfortable. “What's up, kiddo?”

Belle took a deep breath. “Ruby. I think… tonight... _It's gonna happen.”_

“Oh yeah?” she teased. “Some _bow chicka wow wow?”_

“We fed each other cookies yesterday.” Belle said. “And it was like… the sexual tension… you could cut it with a knife.”

“Wait, wait–” Ruby snorted and sat up. “You fed each other _cookies?_ What, is that supposed to be a euphemism for some–”

“I know how it sounds!” Belle cried in her defense. “But– it was the sexiest thing, Ruby. He fed me an oatmeal cookie, and it was like…” she trailed off with a sigh. “Suddenly I became a _woman.”_

Ruby pulled the phone away from her face so she could finish laughing. “But oh–” she gasped, “Hansel and Gretel cookies? Did you get the salted choc–”

“Chocolate chunk almond cookies? Yes.”

“You better save some for me.”

“There's… a few left.” Belle said.

Ruby slouched her shoulders. “You ate them all, didn’t you?”

“No...”

She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Probably for the best, honestly. I don't want yours and Rumford's weird _sex_ cookies. They're tainted now.”

“Hey!”

“Okay. I'm sorry– I’m sure it was like, _super_ hot.” she conceded. “But go on, what happened?”

She listened to Belle's account of her day with Rumford, from the surprise bouquet at the library, to the burgers and their encounter with Greg, to the market and the flower she got him, the bath bombs and the cookies.

“... And he gave me his jacket, and then he called me sweetheart, and we kissed.” Belle told her. “Well, I kissed _him.”_

“But you still didn't get busy?”

“No!” Belle squawked. “We… he walked me home and we kissed each other goodnight, and he went back to the inn, and…”

“You spent the night with your vibrator...” Ruby filled in.

Belle huffed.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry!” she laughed, rolling onto her back and settling against the pillows. “It's cute, actually. I mean, I've never seen two people who so clearly want to bump uglies draw it out so–”

“Do you have to call it that!?”

Ruby frowned, and the unwelcome memory of the time she’d walked in on Belle and Will flashed through her mind. She shook it away. “For my sanity? Yes.”

“Fine. But Ruby...” Belle whined. “What do I _do?”_

“Well...” Ruby began with a snicker, “when a person with a penis gets aroused, they become–”

“Not like that!” she cried. “How do I be _sexy!?”_

Ruby threw a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. The bathroom door creaked open and Dorothy appeared, arching a curious brow.

“Who’s that?” she mouthed.

Ruby covered the mouthpiece on her phone. _“Belle thinks she’s getting laid tonight.”_ she whispered.

 _“Oh.”_ Dorothy grinned and climbed back into bed. She settled on her side beside Ruby and reached out, stroking her hair.

As much as Ruby enjoyed listening to Belle freak out about her dates, she kind of hoped this call wouldn’t be too long.

“Ruby, I'm serious!” Belle said. “This isn't just… some guy! It's–”

 _“Rumford,_ I know.” she deadpanned. “Look, Belle. From what it sounds like, he already thinks you're sexy. Just… be yourself and don't make such a big deal out of it. Talk, get cozy...”

Dorothy leaned over to speak into the phone. “Exchange stories about how you first realized you were a lesbian and how hard it was for you to establish your sense of self in such a misogynist and heteronormative society.” she offered.

“Hang on,” Belle said. “What was that? I didn’t have a pen.”

“No, Belle–” Ruby laughed. “Dorothy just thinks she's funny.” she said, stretching up from her position to give her a quick kiss.

“Oh. Hi, Dorothy!”

“Hey.”

“But actually...” Ruby continued, “she's kind of got a point. If you wanna take things to the next level with Rumford _physically,_ maybe try taking things to the next level _emotionally?_ Instead of talking about safe topics like art and books, talk about _yourselves._ The personal stuff. Maybe even the hard stuff. Be vulnerable with each other.”

“But what if–”

“Best case scenario–” Ruby said, “you have a bunch of shit in common and you're both like, _'wow… I've never felt so understood before…’_ and you make out and you do it nice and slow and tender, and you probably both cry afterwards.”

Dorothy raised her brows, then shrugged.

“...O-okay.” Belle stammered. “But what's–”

“Other case scenario–” Ruby continued, “Shit gets a little too real and you might not be in the mood afterwards, but that's okay because you still bonded and talked about your feelings and you'll probably _definitely_ bang next time.”

“Okay.”

“...Actually, come to think of it, _that's_ probably the best case scenario.” she said, and Dorothy nodded in agreement. “Worst case scenario– he decides you have too much baggage and never calls you again.” she said.

The line was silent, and Dorothy creased her brows.

Ruby wet her lips and smiled. “…never… writes you a letter again?”

Belle gasped. “Ruby, _no!”_

Dorothy giggled and shook her head.

“No, wait–” Ruby frowned. “That's the _second_ worst case scenario. Actual _worst-worst_ case scenario is he waits until _after_ you did it and cried on his shoulder all night to decide you have too much baggage. Then you feel cheap and used afterward.”

“Ruby!” Belle cried.

“But–” she continued, “It's okay because then you'll know he isn't worth it anyway! I'll buy you your favorite Häagen-Dazs, and we can watch _Legally Blonde_ and cry it out together.”

Belle sighed. “Well… okay.”

“But see? Either way, you wind up with dick or Häagen-Dazs.” Ruby said. “It’s a win-win situation, really.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “Well, that doesn't sound like an internally coherent system,” Belle mumbled. “Because the scenario where I get dick _and_ Häagen-Dazs sounds really depressing.”

Ruby snorted and looked to Dorothy, gesturing at her phone. “Isn't she adorable?” she whispered.

“Adorable.” Dorothy mouthed back.

“Look, Belle.” Ruby said. “If Rumford breaks your heart, I will personally hunt him down and make sure he–”

“Babe. Come on.” Dorothy snorted, smacking her on the arm.

“Okay, honestly?” Ruby said, “I think he's a really sweet guy, Belle. You'll be fine. Maybe you guys bang like a screen door in a hurricane… maybe you just cuddle and talk all night… but that man already looks at you like the sun shines out your ass. You'll be fine.”

“Okay.” Belle sighed. A relieved one rather than an exasperated one, at last. “Thank you, Ruby.”

“But if he so much as _tries_ to do anything funny–”

“Babe.” Dorothy hushed.

“I will come _after_ him, and I will _avenge_ you, my precious little peanut. So help me God, I will–”

Dorothy snatched the phone out of Ruby’s hands. “She says have fun, be yourself, and good luck on the sex.”

“And don't forget I'll be back around midnight, so put a sock on the door or something!” Ruby hollered, grabbing it back. “Or you know– just don’t do it out in the living room again.”

“That was one time!” she whined.

“And yet– my scars remain.” Ruby said. “But seriously. Just don’t make a big deal out of it, Belle.”

Belle exhaled slowly. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.” she repeated. “Okay.”

“Are we good?”

“Yeah. I think so.” she said. “Thanks, Ruby.”

“Anytime, peanut.”

With that, she hung up and tossed her phone across the bed.

Dorothy finally cuddled up closely and entwined their hands. “You're a really good friend.” she said, tucking Ruby’s hair behind her ear and kissing her temple.

Ruby grinned and wiggled her brows. _“Best_ friend, actually.”  
  


*****

  


Belle undid a button on her blouse and bent over in front of the mirror. The gore of her lacy bra was visible between the valley of her breasts, and was it a tempting little taste, she wondered? Or was it too much?

She did the button back up and checked herself out again– hands on her hips, because confidence was sexy. The buttons gaped across her chest though, and who stood like that anyway?

Well, Wonder Woman did.

But Belle wasn’t feeling like an Amazonian warrior goddess right now.

She let her arms drop at her sides and sighed. It didn't look terribly prudish or anything, but it was as many buttons as she wore when she went to work! Surely a date with Rumford called for one button less than work, didn’t it?

She undid the button again and squared her shoulders. Lifted her chin.

 _Yeah,_ she thought. That looked nice.

Put the goods on display.

Nothing too provocative, but enough to create a little sexy mystery.

If Belle were to go on a date with herself, she imagined she’d enjoy the view. Probably spend the duration of said date wondering what her bra looked like and if she might be so lucky as to have a chance to lick off the sweat that formed between her breasts.

Would Rumford wonder? Would he want to lick the sweat off her chest? Because she definitely wanted to lick the sweat off his. Among other things.

Belle rolled her eyes and shook her head, giving her reflection a scolding look. It was only 10:30 AM, and here she was, having 10:30 _PM_ thoughts!

She leaned forward again, and _oh yeah._ She was _definitely_ gonna give Rumford a view of the goods, she decided. She _wanted_ him to see her modest cleavage in all its barely C-cup glory. Wanted him to be tormented by thoughts of what she might look like naked. Wanted him to know that _the offer was on the table,_ as it were.

After all, this would be their fourth outing together, and Belle was feeling like a fourth outing kind of girl.

Not that she was making a big deal out of it.

Because like Ruby and Dorothy said– she just needed to relax and be herself.

And she _was_ herself.

She was just the _one button less than work_ version of herself.

 _One button less than work_ Belle was an unapologetic temptress. The only people who didn't want to date her were people who wanted to _be_ her. Strangers wanted to know her name, and the few who did couldn't forget it if they tried.

 _One button less than work_ Belle walked into a room and everyone thought, _“Who's that girl? She must be really nice and have good taste in literature. Her friends probably think she's really supportive and easy to talk to, and I bet she's the dependable one in group projects.”_

...As opposed to _as many buttons as work_ Belle. She was certainly all of those things too– but she just happened to go largely unnoticed when she walked into rooms full of people.

After preening in the mirror for a few minutes, Belle figured she ought to practice her bedroom eyes. At some point this evening, she and Rumford were probably definitely going to kiss again, and give each other _the look._ He'd hesitate at first, not sure if she really wanted it– which was kind of ridiculous because she definitely really wanted it– and she'd have to tell him as much with a look.

To say, “Yes. I want you, _baby.”_ with her eyes.

Or maybe no baby. Just, “I want you.”

With her eyes.

Belle rolled her shoulders and did her best to relax. Took a deep breath and let her eyelids droop slightly.

No. No, that wasn’t it. She just looked tired.

She narrowed them a bit further, but that wasn't right either. Looked like the sun was in her face.

 _Ah._ Belle realized. _The mouth!_ That’s what was missing!

She parted her lips and turned her face slightly, casting her mirror a sidelong look. She started experimenting with her angles, turning this way and that. Swept her gaze up and down, nibbled her lip, and _oh, yeah._

 _Now_ she looked sexy. So sexy, in fact, she was starting to turn _herself_ on.

She gave her hair a little flip, but then something out the window caught her eye, and _oh!_

It was Rumford’s car!

Rumford was here!

Slipping into her most practical heels, Belle raced out of the apartment. She made it halfway down the stairs before she realized she’d forgotten the picnic basket on the kitchen counter, though.

She ran back up for it, and ran back down, and when she finally _did_ reach the front door, she had to stop to catch her breath.

Didn't need Rumford to see her all sweaty and out of breath, after all!

...Or maybe she did.

People got sweaty and out of breath during sex, and she _definitely_ wanted him to think about having sex. With her. All day.

She thrust the front door of the building open and found Rumford just getting out of the car. His eyebrows shot up as their eyes met, and the little smile that bloomed across his face made her forget how to breathe for a second.

“Belle.” he smiled, grasping her hand and pressing a kiss to it. “Good morning.”

She bounced on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “Good morning, Rumford.”

His eyes briefly snapped down to her not-work-appropriate neckline and he swallowed. “You look…” he hesitated for a moment, struggling to find the right word. “Stunning as always.”

Belle licked her lips. “So do you.”

 _“O-oh.”_ He blinked. “You… you think so?”

“Mhmm.” she nodded, sweeping her eyes over his chest. “Oh, yeah.”

“Oh.” The corner of his mouth tugged upwards into a timid smile, and he looked back down at his chest, smoothing a hand over his tie. “Why, thank you.” he chuckled.

Was it too soon for her to say that she was proud of him? He was learning to accept compliments! That shy, sweet, modesty was still there, of course. But he was saying thank you and not deflecting or trying to diminish himself!

“Anyway, um…” Belle held up the basket, pleased with how the motion caused her arms to smush her breasts together. “I packed chicken salad, pasta salad, macaroni salad, potato salad, tuna salad, garden salad, fruit salad… all of the salads, really.” she said, and tucked her hair behind her ear.

Didn't need it covering up the goods, after all.

Rumford glanced down at the basket, then swept his eyes back up to her face. He grasped her hand again– or her wrist, rather– and rubbed his thumb over her pulse point.

“How ah... _thorough_ of you.” he murmured, a crooked little smirk tugging his lips.

Belle was pretty sure she let out a whimpering sound. _Those_ were some bedroom eyes if she'd ever seen them, and _thorough?_ She'd like to be thorough with _him_. In bed.

 _But oh!_ She should think of something sexy to say!

“You have no idea how thorough I can be, Dr Gold…” she purred– but just then, a noisy delivery truck drove past.

Rumford squinted at her and tilted his head. “I'm sorry. What was that?”

“Uh…” Belle cleared her throat and was she _sweating?_ She plucked the back of her blouse away from her skin and flapped it about, and oh yes. She was definitely sweating. “There's... also some ham and turkey sandwiches that I cut into little triangles?” she said. “And a cheese platter. And some more um...”

“...Cookies?” he whispered, his brows raising hopefully.

Belle nibbled her lip and looked down at the basket. “Yeah.” she swallowed. _“...Cookies.”_

“Mm…” Rumford drew a deep breath and smiled. “That all sounds delicious, Belle.” He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it again– but this time he lingered a little longer, made it last. Made eye contact, just like he had when he tried her ice cream cone back in Boston.

 _“Rumford…”_ she giggled, because who would have known that the bumbling, nervous man she'd met at the _Roadshow_ last month would turn out to be such a master of seduction?

His grin widened and he looked away, shaking his head. “Please– let me get that for you.” he said, opening the passenger door and holding the basket for her.

Belle couldn't take her eyes off of him as she climbed into the car. He was such a gentleman, and while she loved the pink shirt he wore yesterday, this new blue one really suited him too. What color _couldn't_ he pull off? It even had a little more of a silky sheen to it, which probably felt really nice against his skin.

Kind of like how silk sheets would feel on a naked body.

 _His naked body,_ she thought, wetting her lips.

“O-oh–” Rumford's eyes widened and he lunged forward. “Be careful–”

But it was already too late.

 _“Ow!”_ Belle grunted, dropping gracelessly into the passenger seat and rubbing a hand over her head where she'd bumped it on the door.

“A-are you alright?”

She took a long, deep breath through her nose, willing herself not to cry.

_“Belle?”_

She nodded, fanning herself and blinking away the tears that were beginning to well in her eyes.

“Are you hurt?”

The sharp pain subsided and shook her head. “I'm fine,” she said, her voice cracking a little bit. “That just… really hurt!” she laughed to stop from crying. “But it's fine! I'm fine!”

It wasn’t until she was settled in her seat that his shoulders relaxed and he smiled. “...Good. That's good.”

She nodded and sniffled, rubbing her sweaty palms over her lap. “Yeah.”

Rumford stared back down at her for a moment, eyes straying from her face again before blushing and shaking his head. “I-I-I’ll put this in the back.” he said, holding up the basket and shutting the door.

Belle let out a heavy breath and looked down at her chest, already feeling her embarrassment beginning to fade away. _One button less than work_ had definitely been the right choice, she thought. Nothing like a low neckline to distract from one’s humiliating blunders.

With the basket loaded in the back seat, Rumford bustled around to the driver's side. He settled into his seat with a little huff and turned toward her, leaning across the center console. Sure, they had plans today– but if he just wanted to find someplace by the docks to park and make out like a pair teenagers, well, Belle would have been fine with that.

He reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, and his touch was so gentle that Belle had to close her eyes and bask in it. “To the park?” he asked.

“Mhm.” she hummed, fluttering her eyes open. “...To the park.”

Rumford wet his lips, and Belle was going to need him to stop doing that before she climbed out of her seat and onto his lap so she could suck his face.

He stroked her chin with his thumb and forefinger, a slight smile still in place. _“To the park.”_ he said at last, letting go and turning away to fasten his seatbelt.

A little sound escaped her at the loss of contact. As she buckled herself in, part of her longed for the fleeting moment of intimacy one shared with an amusement park crew member while they checked that the safety harness had been secured properly before a ride started. But she and Rumford were only in a car, and there was no reason for him to assume that she might not have fastened her seatbelt properly.

Rumford looked ahead, gripping his hands on the wheel and taking a deep breath. He drummed his fingers for a moment and sighed.

“I-I’m sorry–” he said, slouching and looking back to her helplessly. “Where was the park again?”

His cheeks were quickly becoming so adorably flushed, that Belle had to lean across the center console and peck him on the cheek. “We're gonna take that first left up there,” she said, pointing ahead.

“Right.” he chuckled, and put the car in gear. “The first left.”

Rumford wound up missing a turn and confusing his left for his other left, but with Belle's direction, they eventually made it to the memorial park just outside the town center.

It was a sunny, cloudless day, and the two of them agreed to leave the basket in the car so they could enjoy a few leisurely laps around the park first. There was an older man on one of the benches with a book, a family flying kites, several joggers getting their exercise, and two geese gracefully swimming in the pond.

Belle couldn't help noticing that something had changed, though. Rumford had grown quiet– his tender touches and soft whispers replaced with fidgeting and constant throat clearing.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No.” he shook his head and looked over his shoulder. “No, I'm fine. Why do you ask?”

Belle narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down. “You seem nervous.”

He shrugged and put on a smile that didn't meet his eyes. “Well, of course I am.” he said. “I'm on a date with the most stunning woman in the world.”

But Belle wasn't convinced. The sexy edge he usually had to his voice was missing.

She pressed her lips into a thin line and took a deep breath. “Rumford…” she said, “If something’s bothering you, you can tell me. I want you to have a good time, and if there's anything I can do–”

 _“The geese.”_ he blurted.

Belle stopped walking and blinked. “The _what?”_

“The geese.” he mumbled. “I-I don't like geese, Belle.”

“You're afraid? Of the _geese?”_ she asked. “Over there in that pond?”

“I-I-I’m not _afraid!”_ he sputtered. “I-I just... don’t like them!”

Belle smiled, not wanting to laugh. People often had perfectly logical reasons to be afraid of things, but the geese looked as peaceful as could be. “Why?”

 _“Why!?”_ he jerked back. “Why _shouldn't_ I be afraid!? They're… big! And aggressive! And they have those–” he leaned in and whispered, _“...freakish teeth.”_

Belle giggled and shook her head. “They're not _aggressive,_ Rumford. They're just… territorial.”

“Same bloody difference if you ask me,” he muttered, sneaking a furtive glance at them over his shoulder.

“No, you see– it’s summer, which means mating season is almost over. They’re just trying protect their goslings from predators!”

Rumford grumbled and stared at the ground.

“I'm sure _you_ wouldn't be very nice if you thought a stranger was out to harm your son.” she said, nudging her shoulder against his.

He huffed out a little laugh and smiled at her weakly. “I suppose not.”

“Don't worry, Rumford.” Belle said, lifting her chin. “I've read _lots_ of books about the species _Branta canadensis_ and am fully equipped with the knowledge of how to recognize the early signs of aggression in geese, as well as how to respond in the event of a goose attack.”

 _“...Oh.”_ He eased his shoulders a little. “Well, I-I suppose that does make me feel a little better.”

Belle settled her hands on his shoulders. “If any goose wants to attack you, Rumford…” she glared past him, at the pond, and narrowed her eyes at the geese. _“...They'll have to go through me first.”_

He parted his lips and tilted his head. “You… you're saying that… you would fight a _goose_ for me?”

Belle nodded and reached up on her toes to peck him on the lips. “I would.”

He gently grasped her hand and his eyes seemed to tear up. “No one's ever offered to fight a goose for me before.” he choked out.

 _Yes,_ Belle thought as she looked into those soft, brown eyes. This might only be their fourth outing together, but she was already certain that she would fight for Rumford. That if anybody wanted to lay finger or feather on her man, they’d quickly find themselves in for a world of… _nonviolent conflict resolution._

“I mean, the best thing to do when one encounters an aggressive goose is actually to stay calm and back away slowly.” Belle clarified. “However it’s important to be aware that most goose attacks occur when someone _tries_ to back away, but ends up tripping.”

“I… didn’t know that.” Rumford said.

Belle pulse quickened at that. At those words. What greater thrill was there, than to teach someone something new? What could be more vulnerable, more intimate, more sexy, than to hear someone admit that you'd just told them something they hadn't known before?

“Mhm…” She slid her hands down his chest and stroked a finger along his tie, nibbling her lip. She leaned into his ear and lowered her voice. “The goose interprets the sudden movement as a threat... and _that's_ when they strike.” she finished, giving the tie a sharp tug.

He grunted and stumbled towards her, and his cheeks grew flushed, his breaths grew ragged.

“But it's okay, Rumford.” she whispered, cupping his face in her hands. “I have over fifty hours of martial arts training under my belt.”

“That's… impressive.” he blinked, his cheeks smushed in her hands.

“Thank you.” she smiled, letting her hands slip down to his shoulders. “So you see, in the event that we should be approached by an aggressive goose, then stumble on a tree root or something, causing the goose to react violently and attack us?” Belle paused and combed his hair out of his face. “It would be my _honor_ to protect you from that goose by any... means... necessary.”

Rumford leaned in slightly and parted his lips, his tongue poking out to wet them. “Belle, I… I don't know what to say.”

She cupped his face again. Because he looked so darn cute with his cheeks squished together like that. “Oh, Rumford…” she sighed, “you don't have to say anything.”

With that, Belle reached up and pulled him in for a kiss. For an instant, she worried that Rumford might not have been ready for it– but before she could pull back, he pulled her closer.

She inhaled through her nose, because her mouth was quite busy, and _oh..._ He smelled like the soap she'd picked out for him yesterday, and that fact alone was even more rousing than the scent itself. Because that fact made him _hers._

She let out a moan as he tugged her lips, and _he_ let out a moan, and she would have to talk to him about zoology more often if it meant he'd kiss her like _this–_ with his mouth pressed firmly against hers and his hands cradling her neck.

She'd gotten a little taste of his tongue back in Boston, and just the memory of it was enough to send tingles all over her body. But right now? Belle needed more than just a taste, and she was pretty sure that all she had to do was open up a little more and–

 _"Get a room!”_ a voice shouted, accompanied by the sound of someone on a skateboard whirring past.

The two of them went still, their joined lips frozen mid kiss. It was Rumford who pulled away first, and he looked down at the ground, hiding his red cheeks behind his hair.

Belle wiped her plumped lips with the back of her hand, taking a moment to catch her breath. “You know… Why don't we uh, get the basket. And we can um…”

“Have some cookies?” Rumford asked.

“Yeah.” she whispered. “Cookies.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle tells Rumford about her spreadsheet. Also, they're both dorks who overthink everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TMI's for last chapter - [[x](http://ifishouldvanish.tumblr.com/tagged/tmi:%20bh13)]

There was no reason for Belle French to be pacing.

She and Rumford had enjoyed their picnic free of any goose-related incidents, and afterwards, they’d hopped back in the car and headed to the Storybrooke Mining Museum so that Rumford could learn more about the rich history of the town Belle called home. He particularly seemed to enjoy seeing all the various tools that were used, and learning about how the industry helped shape the New England economy.

Later, while they were in the gallery of geological samples, Rumford had told her that the blue fluorite was the same color as her eyes– a compliment she returned by comparing  _ his  _ to the polished smoky quartz in one of the other displays. He’d blushed and gone on to compare her smile to a diamond and her lips to a rubellite tourmaline sample, reducing Belle to a coquettish fit of giggles before the security guard finally ushered them out for “disturbing the other guests.”

That was no matter though. By then, it had come time for them to head back to the apartment so she could get started on dinner.

The one they'd be eating together.

In private.

All of her nerves from the morning had come rushing back tenfold once they got back in the car, and Belle couldn't help feeling relieved when Rumford asked if she would mind it if he dropped her off and ran a quick errand before coming back.

Of course she didn’t mind!

It had given her time to panic! Time to get dinner in the oven so he wouldn't have to see how incompetent she was in the kitchen! 

And now that dinner  _ was _ in the oven, all she had to do was wait.

Wait for Dr Rumford Gold– ISA, ASA, and AAA certified personal property appraiser– to knock on her door.

Sure, he'd seen her drunk on their first date, and their first kiss had been on the middle of a busy hotel lobby, and they'd sensually fed each other cookies– but this dinner would be different. They'd be in the apartment. With a bedroom. That had a bed. And no teenagers on skateboards to tell them to get a room. 

Because they  _ would _ have a room.

There was a knock at the door, and Belle stopped pacing. She took a deep breath and walked over to answer it.

Rumford was on the other side of that door, she told herself.

Squaring her shoulders, she opened it up. 

_ “Belle.” _ he said, and a smile brightened his face when their eyes met. 

_ “Rumford.” _ she said right back, and she could feel herself smiling too.

She was gonna get it on with him, and  _ God, _ had she ever liked someone so much before? He wasn't even  _ doing _ anything. Just  _ standing _ there, and–

_ Oh. _

“Uh… come in.” Belle said, finally moving out of the way.

“I ah… picked up some wine?” he said as he stepped inside, holding up a bottle of something dark and red. “I thought a  _ Côtes du Rhône _ would pair nicely with your meatloaf tonight.”

“Yeah!” Belle smiled and accepted the bottle from him. “This is um– How thoughtful. Thank you.”

She  could think of something that would pair nicely with  _ his  _ meat–

Belle gave herself a mental slap on the wrist before she should finish that thought, and half-heartedly studied the label on the bottle as she brought it over to the counter.

She didn't drink wine. Not really. As far as she was concerned, there was  _ white stuff _ and  _ red stuff. _

Well, and  _ pink stuff, _ too.

But of course Rumford was the kind of man who knew his wine. He was a gentleman. He was cultured and sophisticated and definitely getting laid tonight.

She turned back to face him, and he was still standing by the door, looking around, and the apartment had become so terribly quiet. But then Rumford’s hand came up to unbutton his jacket.

“Let me get that for you!” she blurted, nearly falling over herself to take it.

“Oh.” He smiled over his shoulder at her as he slipped his arms out of the sleeves. “Thank you. Should I take off my clothes?”

Belle froze in the middle of hanging the jacket on the hook, her pulse pounding in her throat.

She was as eager to bump uglies as the next person, but _ take his clothes off? Right now? _ They still had to eat dinner and sip wine! She'd worked hard on her meatloaf, dammit!

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “I'm sorry. What?”

Rumford knit his brows together. “Should I take off my shoes?” he repeated.

Belle blinked owlishly, and the oven made a clicking sound that carried across the small apartment. “...Why?”

Rumford floundered, his eyes darting about the room but never meeting hers. “Ah…”

_ “I mean, yes.” _ Belle corrected herself. “If you want to. I don't– it's fine. Whatever you uh… yeah.”

Having your guests take their shoes off at the door. That was a thing people did. People who were neat and tidy and had plush white carpeting. People who had little shelves and wicker baskets to place all of their little things. Decorative pillows that were always arranged just so, and throw blankets that were always folded prettily and smelled of  _ Hawaiian Breeze  _ or  _ Orange Blossoms  _ or  _ Fresh Dew Drops _ .

Belle had, of course, spent the other evening putting all of her little things away, arranging the decorative pillows just so, and washing and prettily folding the throw blanket– but that didn't make her one of those  _ take your shoes off when you come in _ people. Not even close.

Was Rumford one of those people?

_ God,  _ he probably was.

What did he even see in her? She was an uncultured swine who didn't ask people to take their shoes off when they came into the apartment.

That was no matter though, Belle told herself. 

That just made them like the hero and heroine of a Regency romance novel. Two unlikely lovers from different worlds who must defy the confines of their divergent social stations and endure the ire of their families before they can find lasting happiness together. Preferably in the rolling, pastoral countryside of his Scottish homeland, far from the oppressive rectitude of the aristocracy. Their first born– a little girl– will be conceived on the night of their honeymoon, and she’ll have her father’s eyes and her mother’s pluck.

_ Yes, _ Belle thought as she watched him toe off his oxfords, revealing a pair of argyle socks in a charcoal grey and a rich shade of blue that perfectly matched his shirt.  _ They could overcome this. _

“So uh… this is the apartment.” Belle said, clapping her hands together. “It's um, not much, but you know…”

“Oh, I think it's charming, Belle.” he said, eyes panning across the room, smiling at what he saw. “Truly. You've got the efficiency of a tenement housing plan– no doubt to accommodate a sudden influx of mine workers for whom I gather these apartments were built– yet all the luxurious attention to detail one might expect of a pre-war structure. Beamed ceilings, crown molding...” he pointed out.

“Oh.” she chuckled, looking at the floor and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, uh, thank you.”

Rumford continued looking around, at the floors, the walls, the ceilings. “1900? Just about?”

She smiled and shifted on her feet. “Yeah. 1903, I think.”

_ God, _ he was amazing. Dr Rumford Gold. In her own apartment. And he thought it was charming.  _ Truly _ charming. 

“Anyway, um– Ruby's in Portland with Dorothy all weekend, so um… we should have the place to ourselves tonight?”

His lips parted and his cheeks grew pink. “...oh.”

Should she have said that? It was kind of a cliché, wasn't it? She might as well have dimmed the lights, changed into "something more comfortable”, and put on some Barry White. Strung fairy lights around a sign that read, _ LET'S GET IT ON. _

There wasn't any shame in that though, was there? They were two adults who were…  _ interested _ in each other, right? So why all the pretense? Practiced safely, getting it on was a perfectly fun, perfectly natural, perfectly healthy activity for two (or more) consenting adults to enjoy together. Hell, she got it on with herself three to five times a week.

“You know what?” Belle said, “Why don't I uh, give you a tour?”

Rumford cleared his throat. “Ah…  _ yes. _ That would be lovely.”

She swallowed hard. “Well. Uh… this is the– the um…”  _ living room? Den? _

She knew that living rooms were for entertaining guests while dens were private spaces for enjoying leisurely activities– but what was the correct terminology when you lived in a tiny apartment where you neither entertained many guests nor had any private spaces that weren't just bedrooms or bathrooms?

“...Aye.” Rumford nodded, seeming privy to her conundrum. “And the ah… kitchen?” he said, looking across the apartment at the small breakfast nook.

“Yeah!” Belle latched on, pointing a thumb over her shoulder. “That's the kitchen. Where we um, eat. I mean cook... Because we uh… usually eat on the couch?”

This was the worst apartment tour ever. Terrible idea.

Rumford hummed thoughtfully. “Was this building renovated in the eighties, do you know?”

“Uh…  _ yes!” _ she nearly shouted.Because she knew that. She  _ knew _ that. “Actually, it was! 1987.” she said, smoothing out her blouse and squaring her shoulders. “Why?”

“It’s just, I was wondering…” he shrugged and stepped closer to the counter. “Open kitchen like this…” he trailed off. 

“The U-shaped counter configuration and white laminate didn't take off until the eighties?” she said.

“Exactly.” he chuckled. And was he blushing again?  _ Oh, _ he was so observant! If he noticed the eighties kitchen remodel, what other things was he noticing?

Belle wrapped an arm around herself.

Probably best not to think about that.

“Must have been a wall here…” he continued, gesturing at the corner. “Pre-war housing–”

“Had small kitchens?”

He paused and met her eyes, wetting his lips. “...Aye.”

Belle bit back a smile. “Well, wait till you uh,  _ see how small the bathroom is…” _ she murmured, startled by the deep tenor of her voice.

“Oh–  _ please.” _ he insisted, gesturing behind her. “I-I’d love to see it.”

“It's right this way,” she beckoned him down the narrow hall and opened the bathroom door. Much to her delight, Rumford seemed to be  _ highly  _ impressed by how tiny and cramped it was.

He poked his head in, admiring the dozens of beauty and personal care products crammed onto the small vanity shelf.

“They just don't make them like this anymore, ye know?” he said.

“Yeah.” Belle sighed. “It's like… these days, everything's all about his and hers sinks, and garden tubs, and… _ counter space.” _ she said, rolling her eyes.

“Ugh.” Rumford grunted, swatting a hand through the air and turning back. “Don't even get me–” he cut himself off when he came face to face with her, inches apart in the narrow hallway.  _ “...started.” _

Oh, but she very much wanted to get him started.

He could take a half step closer and kiss her right now, Belle realized. That had always been a fantasy of hers, come to think of it. Being pressed against the wall and passionately kissed by a lover. Preferably a lover who was a forty-something year-old personal property appraiser with ashy-brown shoulder-length hair and a Scottish accent.

“I mean, some more counter space would actually be kind of nice,” she stammered. “But–”

“Oh, aye. Aye, of course. No doubt.”

“But  _ frameless mirrors _ and  _ recessed lighting,”  _ Belle scoffed, posing against the door frame and puffing her chest out. To show off the goods. He hadn't stared at them in a while. “Am I right?”

“Oh. A travesty, I hear you.” Rumford agreed, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.

Suddenly Belle's face felt unbearably hot. Her ears burned and her armpits itched, and  _ what the hell was she doing? _

“...Heh.” she chuckled weakly and ducked away, retreating back up the hall. “So um, my room’s this way.” she said.

What should she say about it, though? She'd watched enough episodes of  _ MTV Cribs _ with Greg to know that she didn't want to describe it as  _ where the magic happens _ , but that was about it.

She reached the door and flung it open as if ripping off a Band-Aid.

“There it is.” she said. “My um, bedroom. Where I–” she cleared her throat.  _ Do private things. Like have sex. _ “...Sleep.”

Rumford was quiet, and with any luck, Belle thought, her giant crammed bookshelf and the assortment of novelties atop it would serve as a sufficient distraction from her bed.

“...aye. It's… very nice.” he observed.

_ “Yeah.” _ she said, shutting the door as quickly as she'd opened it. “Ruby's is that door.” she added, nodding at the one across the hall.

_ What was her problem, anyway? _ She'd taken Greg and Will to her room for their first times together without a thought! Bookshelf with novelties?  _ What _ bookshelf with novelties!?

Dr Rumford Gold was in her apartment, and instead of tearing his clothes off, she was giving him an awkward tour, too embarrassed to let him see her room for more than five seconds.

God, was she  _ stalling? _

Stalling getting it on with Rumford?

Ridiculous!

She  _ definitely _ wanted to get it on with him! Big time!

This was all Ruby's fault, Belle decided.

Instead of helping her confidence, she'd actually just gotten inside her head. All her talk about  _ being vulnerable _ and  _ having baggage _ and the possibility of _ crying over a tub of Häagen-Dazs to cope with rejection _ was getting the better of her.

Yes. That was definitely it.

But now that she'd identified the source of her anxieties, she could put them to bed!

Like the one she and Rumford were totally gonna get it on in tonight.

“Anyway, um, you can just… make yourself comfortable.” she said, gesturing back down the hall. Because that was what her mother always said whenever they entertained guests, and she intended to entertain the ever-loving shit out of Rumford.

The Hostess With the Mostest.

That was her. 

Kind, cordial, accommodating.

She'd taken his jacket. Given him a tour of the apartment. Invited him to make himself comfortable… what came next?

_ Aha. _

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, gesturing towards the refrigerator. “Water, a Coke, tea…?”

“Oh, no thank you.” he said, settling on the couch. “I'm fine for the time being.”

_ Darn, _ Belle thought. That would have given her something to do. Now she was just standing around, useless, with sweaty palms.

_ Oh! _

“Is the temperature in here okay? I can change it. Make it cooler, or–”

“Oh, no. I'm very comfortable, actually.” he assured with a smile.

_ God _ , what business did he have being so agreeable? 

“A snack? We have some–”

“Belle, I-I'm fine. Honest. Please– sit down.” he smiled, gesturing at the seat beside him on the couch.

“O-okay.” she said, holding her hands behind her back and stepping around the sofa. She sat primly in the accent chair and smiled at him, and he smiled back.

He was so cute. With his little dimples. And his little cheeks. And he'd called her sweetheart last night. She was his sweetheart. Rumford's sweetheart. That made him her boyfriend, didn't it? Like, officially?

She wondered when he would call her sweetheart again. It was still too new and fresh for him to toss about willy-nilly, of course– but maybe during dinner. Or after. While they were in the throes of passion.

The sooner they got talking, the sooner he'd probably call her sweetheart again.

He wet his lips. “Ye know–” 

“So–” Belle began at the same time, and immediately cut herself off. “I mean,  _ what?” _

Rumford tilted his head. “What?”

“What um, what were you going to say?” she asked, her hands clutching at the hem of her skirt.

“No, no.” he deferred. “You were about to–”

“It wasn't important.” she shook her head. Because it wasn't. She had fully intended to draw out that ‘ _ so…’ _ for however long as it took for her to think of something worthwhile to say. “You um, you go first.”

He blinked for a moment. “Aye, well…” he hunched over and clasped his hands together. “I was just curious… about, ah… well, in Boston, after the show, you mentioned something that you like to… it’s just– y-you never got to finish and I–”

“Oh,  _ that.” _ Belle chuckled and looked away, feeling her cheeks grow hot again. “I um…  _ I have a spreadsheet.” _ she mumbled quickly, mumbled quietly.

“I'm sorry–” he inched closer, “what was that?”

“A spreadsheet.” she coughed. “You know what?” she shook her head, “it’s nothing, really.”

“A-a-a  _ spreadsheet?” _ he asked, brows creased with confusion, yet raised with open curiosity. “What of?”

Belle shrunk in her seat. Ruby had been right to interrupt her last time, hadn't she? What if he thought she was crazy and didn't want to get it on with her tonight? Or ever?

“The um… accuracy of the appraisals?”

He blinked and eased back in his seat. “Oh.”

“It's sorted by appraiser.” she blurted, as if it was any justification for what a weirdo she was.

“And ah…  _ I'm… _ on this spreadsheet?”

Belle nibbled her lip and nodded. "At the top of it. You're rating's a .985.” she said. “I um, round to the nearest thousandth?”

He didn't say anything, but sat still, rubbing a hand over his chin.

“It's also sorted into categories? .985 is your overall. Your rating for drawings and paintings is 1.0 and your rating for manuscripts is .992.” she said, and God, she was rambling. She balled a fist over her mouth before she could go into any more embarrassing detail.

The corner of Rumford's mouth tugged upwards and he leaned forward, shifting on the sofa to face her better. “Really?”

“Mhm.” she squeaked, her throat too dry and tight for words.

“Belle,” he scoffed, “may– may I…  _ see _ this spreadsheet?”

She let out a chuckle and looked away, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You um– you wanna see my spreadsheet?”

“...Aye.” he smiled. “I think I would. If you don't mind, that is.”

“Well…  _ o-okay.” _ she said, trembling as she climbed out of her seat. “I'll um, go get my tablet?”

She walked to her bedroom on wobbly legs, pausing once she reached the door to look back over her shoulder at him. He smiled, and she smiled, and she shook her head.

“It's um, in my room.”

“Aye.” he nodded.

Belle nibbled her lip and let her eyes linger on him a while longer. “I'll just…”

He let out a little chuckle. “Yeah.”

“...Yeah.”

Belle finally tore her eyes from him and opened the door, slipping inside to swipe her tablet off the nightstand. She quickly checked that there wasn't anything embarrassing or incriminating open and returned to the living room.

Den.

Denning room.

She'd have to investigate the nomenclature of rooms in residential spaces more thoroughly tomorrow.

Rumford scoot over, making room for her on the couch even though there was already plenty of room. It wasn't until Belle settled beside him that she realized she'd been sitting in the accent chair earlier, and why had she done that? 

Nerves. Had to be nerves.

After all, they were definitely maybe going to be getting it on tonight. Her and Rumford. In bed. Naked. Hot and sweaty and out of breath.

“So um–” she tapped and swiped at the screen, opening the document up. "That's… yeah.” she said, positioning the device so they both could see.

Rumford squinted, blinked, and pat his chest. “Oh. M-my glasses.” he realized. “They're in my–”

“Your jacket!” she blurted, springing to her toes. “I'll get them!”

He stared at her with a flummoxed expression, his mouth hanging open as she rushed to the coat hook. “Ah… inside left pocket?”

After much trial and error, Belle found his readers. They wound up being in the inside _ other  _ left pocket– and who knew jackets had so many pockets? And so many lefts?

She watched and waited for him to slide them on before taking her seat again, scooting a little closer than she had been before because  _ God,  _ he smelled good.

“So, what have we got here?” he asked.

Belle cleared her throat. She'd imagined this moment– explaining her spreadsheet to Rumford. She practically had an entire speech prepared! She was forgetting it now, but it was definitely in there somewhere! 

“Well… see this section highlighted in pink here?” she said, pointing at the screen. “That's all you. And if you scroll down, I also have scores for David Nolan, Killian Jones, Dorothy Gale, Dr Heller, Katherine Midas… And across the top are all the categories: ancient art, arms and militia, Asian arts, books and manuscripts, clocks, collectibles…” she trailed off.

_ “Hm.” _ Rumford dared to tap his finger on the screen, but the thing scrolled down several rows, losing their place. “Oh– w-what...” he stammered and looked to her for help, mild panic in his brown eyes.

Belle smiled up at him and stifled a giggle.

Oh, he was too cute. How could one man be so brilliant, and yet so hopeless?

God, she was totally gonna get it on with him tonight.

He was gonna totally get it gotten on with.

She reached to touch the screen, bringing the spreadsheet back to where she had it. He tried again– more carefully this time– and began exploring all the data.

It was an impressive spreadsheet, if Belle dared say so herself. The appraiser, the date, a thumbnail image of the item, the attribution, the estimated value, and an extra column for her notes describing any discrepancies she found in her own research, complete with sources. Formatted beautifully, too. It was a shame she didn't get to make many spreadsheets at work or in school, because she was kind of amazing at it.

Professional spreadsheet designer. That might be her dream job if only it were actually a thing.

“Now, your weakest areas are Asian arts and metalwork and sculpture.” she told him, pointing at those columns.

“Yes, I see…” Rumford nodded, tapping a finger on the calculated scores at the bottom.

“You tend to mix up your dynasties. For example, that Yixing teapot you attributed to the Ming dynasty, but after doing my research, I’d have placed it in the Qing dynasty.”

Rumford nodded. “You're right. You're absolutely right.” he scoot closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Belle, this is fascinating.”

Her heart fluttered, and if an arm around the shoulders felt this good, imagine how incredible it would feel have his  _ whole body _ wrapped around her! “Yeah? You um, you really think so?”

“I do.” he said. “Do– do you think you could ah… perhaps send me a copy of this?”

Belle fought back a big smile.  _ “Really?” _

“Certainly. I… I think this is a highly valuable set of data. Keeping my knowledge up to date is one of the hardest parts of my job because there's so many areas, I-I don't know where to start.” he admitted with a shrug. “I mean, certain things clients bring in frequently enough that I can sort of brush up as I go, but this–” he scoffed and let the arm around her shoulder drop to her waist. “This is incredibly helpful, sweetheart.”

Belle looked at him with a dreamy sigh.

She was helping him get better at his job that he was already amazing at. He was calling her  _ sweetheart. _ Dinner was in the oven.

They were practically married already.

Imagine her, Belle French, snuggling up in bed every night next to Rumford. The two of them giving each other kisses before heading off to work every morning. Her, Belle French, casually talking to her coworkers about  _ her husband _ and how sweet and brilliant and sexy he is. The two of them trying to plan surprises for each other for their anniversary. An April wedding. Or maybe November. That would different. Cozy, romantic. No, wait– no.

Too close to the holidays.

September, though. That could be nice.

And their honeymoon? A tour of the oldest and most beautiful libraries the United Kingdom has to offer.

Belle wet her lips. “I can um...  _ add you as a collaborator.”  _ she murmured.

He wet his own and smiled, taking his glasses off and shifting closer to her. Something in his eyes changed too, and they looked just like they had on that bench yesterday. Bedroom eyes.

...Or maybe they were just  _ adjusting-to-having-taken-his-glasses-off  _ eyes.

The effect was all the same, really.

“...I'd like that.” Rumford said huskily.

Belle reached her arm out to set the tablet on the coffee table, but underestimated the distance. It knocked against the edge of the table and smacked onto the floor,  and if the screen cracked, she wouldn't have known because her eyes were glued to his face.

They were totally gonna make out now, weren't they?

She inched closer to him, and he shifted again, sliding a hand over hers where it sat on her thigh. His touch sparked and tingled and stole her breath away. They both leaned in to close the distance between them, parted their lips, and–

_ Beep beep beep! _

_ Beep beep beep! _

Belle huffed and Rumford pulled away, turning their heads toward the kitchen.

“Oh, uh–” Belle stammered, “Th-that's the oven, I gotta go check on um, the uh… you know.”

_ Beep beep beep! _

He blinked, and just like that, the bedroom wasn't in his eyes anymore. “...Aye. Sure, sure.”

_ Beep beep beep! _

Belle rushed to the kitchen to check on her meatloaf, but oh, no– it needed another few minutes. Unless, perhaps, he preferred his meatloaf on the moist side? Should she ask?

No, no. Then she'd have to say the word.  _ Moist.  _

And  _ meat.  _

In the same sentence.

_ Do you like your meatloaf moist? _

Yes, a few more minutes would be fine.

After all, in the event that he actually preferred it on the dry side, taking it out now would be a grave mistake. In the meantime, she could heat up the mashed potatoes. They were store-bought, but Rumford didn't need to know that.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked from the couch. “Help setting the table?”

Oh, yeah. She'd forgotten about that.

Vacuumed, dusted, laundered her linens, changed the air filter– but forgot to set the table.

God, what a joke! There were supposed to be candles, a centerpiece, fancy napkins! _ Jazz! _

“No... You can um… just relax.” she answered weakly, opening the cupboard to grab plates.

“If you insist.” he said. “But please, if there's anything I can do– anything at all, I–” he scoffed and shook his head. “Well, I'm afraid I'm not used to being served, is all.”

Belle laid the plates on the table and looked up at him. “...All the more reason for you to relax and let me take care of it.”

Yes. Relax for another…  _ four minutes and twenty-seven seconds, _ she thought, checking the timer on the microwave for the potatoes.

“I suppose I’ll ah, just have to return the favor when you come to Syracuse, then.” he said with a cheeky little grin.

Belle bit her cheek. She was fretting over dinner and here  _ he _ was– already talking about  _ next time  _ and making her heart feel even more floppy than it already was. “...Yeah?”

His tongue poked out to wet his lips.  _ “Yeah.” _

Oh, she and Rumford had a sort of chemistry unlike anything else she'd ever known. For who else could make her knees tremble with a simple,  _ “yeah”? _

The answer was nobody. 

Belle smiled and turned away, finishing up dinner. Once the meatloaf was out of the oven, she spent a few minutes fussing with the place settings before convincing herself that they were fine. Because they were just napkins, and she had more important things to worry about. Like atmospheric lighting.

She casually walked over to the light switches and thought it through. It would be too forward of her to turn off the lights, plunge the apartment into darkness, and  _ then _ turn on the dim pendant light over the bar area. No, no– She should turn the pendant light on  _ first, _ that way it wouldn't be so noticable.  _ Then _ she'd turn off the main lights. It would be like,  _ “oh, is this lighting romantic? I just turned off the light over the prep area because I'm done cooking and don't need it anymore, but you're right. This is nice and cozy, isn't it?” _

Yes. That would work. 

She flipped the left switch up and the right switch down. In the corner of her eye, Belle could see Rumford shift on the couch, adjusting to the new, dim light.

She stepped around the sofa and held her hand out to him. “It's um, ready.”

He looked up at her with a smile and accepted her hand, getting up and letting her lead him to the table. She slid his chair out for him and his smile widened as he settled in. Belle took her seat, mindful not to make the chair screech on the tile when she scoot in.

“I really appreciate you preparing dinner for us, Belle. It… looks and smells delicious.” Rumford said.

“Oh. Well, it's um, just meatloaf.” she brushed aside with a nervous chuckle.

“No, truly.” he insisted. “I'm really quite touched by the effort.”

_ The effort. _

Belle cast an anxious glance at her store-bought potatoes. “...it's fine.” she said.

She should just come clean, shouldn't she? Honestly was the best policy, after all. What kind of precedent was she setting? Taking credit for mashed potatoes she paid $2.79 for and threw in the microwave? No, no.

Her and Rumford would have no lies between them.

“The potatoes are store-bought, actually.” she coughed.

“...Yes.” Rumford said, darting his eyes around the kitchen in confusion. “I… saw you put them in the microwave.”

_ Oh. _

So he knew.

Well, of course he knew. He could spot cheap reproductions from a mile away. Her and her store-bought mashed potatoes never stood a chance.

“Wonderfully convenient, isn't it?” he smiled. “I used to make them from scratch all the time back when Neal was a boy, because back then it was just the ah…  _ box? _ With the  _ flakes?” _ He gestured with his hands as he reached for the words, and something about it tugged at Belle's heart. “Never cared for how those came out.” he said. “But these? Add a wee bit of extra butter and ye really canny taste the difference, I think.”

“Yeah.” Belle chuckled and eased her shoulders. “Exactly.”

If she was being perfectly honest, she'd actually  _ never _ known the tedium of making mashed potatoes from scratch.

Not even once.

But he was a fan of store-bought mashed potatoes. This was good.

Would he like her  _ meatloaf _ though?

Her mother's meatloaf?

That was the important question, and the anticipation was killing her. She needed him to take a bite already so she could see his face! She needed him to like it!

She'd never met anyone who  _ didn't _ like it, but still!

“Well um…dig in, I guess.” she shrugged.

He gave a slight nod and picked up his fork, smiling at her as he brought a bite up to his mouth. Belle was pretty sure her heart stopped beating in that moment. He closed his mouth around the forkful and shut his eyes, and at the very least she certainly wasn't breathing.

She pressed her lips together and watched as he chewed. Waited.

_ “Mm,” _ he swallowed at last. “Oh, that's good.”

She bit down on her lip to keep herself from smiling too much. “Yeah?”

He nodded and licked his lips, the apples of his cheeks rounded by the smile on his face. “Oh, yes. Delicious.”

Belle eased her shoulders.

_ He liked the meatloaf! _

She picked up her own fork then, and the clinking and scraping of silverware filled the room as they began to share their meal in companionable silence.

The realization made her smile. Mama always said it was a compliment when the table was silent, because that meant everyone was enjoying the food so much! 

The clinking and scraping slowed down as their tummies grew full, and it was Rumford who began the conversation, asking her how her translations were coming along.

“They’re going well.” Belle said. “I’m about halfway through those journals we picked up.”

"Already?” he raised his brows. “That’s impressive.”

The praise brought a warmth to her cheeks, and she shook her head. “But um, I haven’t found anything to give  _ Her Handsome Hero _ the connection to  _ Les Reines des Ténèbres  _ we’re looking for yet.” Belle sighed.

Rumford parted his lips as if to speak, but just cleared his throat and shifted in his seat instead.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” he coughed and shook his head. “I was just– it's nothing.”

She eyed him skeptically for a moment, but if he didn't want to say something, she wouldn't press the issue. “Well, okay.” she shrugged and took a bite of her meatloaf.

Rumford sighed. “I… well… it's just that I… I might…  _ know _ somebody. Wh-who could help.”

Belle raised her brows and swallowed.

“Just… an old colleague of mine.” Rumford explained. “H-he knew–  _ would  _ know more than I do. About rare books, out of print things…”

She scoot to the edge of her seat.

_ Reinforcements? _ Her, Rumford, and one of his colleague friends? They could be like the Justice League of academia! Traveling the world, attributing great works of art and literature together that would otherwise be lost to time! She could be the Lois Lane to his Superman, the Catwoman to his Batman! “Really?”

The corners of his mouth twitched into another fleeting smile. “Well, I... I-I haven't spoken to him in a long time, is the thing.” he added quickly. “You know, h-he's... probably switched phone numbers and moved house and everything by now.”

“Oh.” Belle pouted and hunched over her plate. “That's too bad.”

“Anyway,” he coughed and fidgeted again. “Anything ah, interesting, otherwise? In the journals?”

“Yeah! Yeah, all sorts of things!” she beamed. She chewed on another forkful and took a swig of wine, buying herself a moment to organize her thoughts.

There was the part where the author describes a dinner party with an insufferable male suitor her parents were trying to set her up with. Then there was an adorable little adventure shared between her and her unnamed struggling artist sweetheart, whom she snuck out with for a night at the  _ Moulin Rouge _ where she tried absinthe for the first time.

Rumford smiled and told her that they sounded like the stories his aunties would tell him about how they met and fell in love– and  _ how romantic was that? _

He had a big smile on his face as he shared their story with her, and Belle sighed wistfully as she listened, because _how sweet could one man be?_

She told him the story of how her parents met– how Mama and Papa had both found themselves stood up at the same restaurant. How Mama invited him to sit with her, because  _ “if two lonely people kept each other company– well, that was two less lonely people in the world”. _ How, come the end of the night, Papa already knew he wanted to marry her.

At some point, Belle's hand had slid over his, and she was smiling, and he was smiling, and this had to be what  _ love _ felt like, didn't it? Because never in her life had Belle felt so peaceful, so relaxed, so content to simply  _ be, _ and she wondered if Rumford felt the same way too.

Like they could maintain intense, uninterrupted eye contact for days without it even once feeling weird.

Her eyes wandered to the clock then, and it was 7:30. Her pulse thickened, and it pounded so loudly that it drowned out all the quiet bliss she was feeling for the first time since this afternoon.

7:30 meant that they were that much closer to the inevitable.

That much closer to the part where they would kiss and start to get carried away. The part where they'd take things to the bedroom. The part where they'd finally release all the sexual tension that's been pent up between them since her appraisal last month.

Belle looked across the table at him, watching as he shoved his last forkful of potatoes into his mouth.

_ God, _ she was going to ride him like a bull.

By the time she was though with him, he wouldn't even remember his own name. Because she'd be screaming it all night.

_ No, wait. _ That didn't make any sense.

By the time she was through with him… he would… it... she would…

Belle felt a cold sensation creep over her skin and into her bones, and her heart sank into her stomach.

_ Oh no, _ she realized.

Ruby was right.

She  _ was _ making a big deal out of it.

She was spending time with the sweetest, most precious man she'd ever known, and instead of just enjoying it, she spent half the day fretting over how many buttons she should do up, how tempting her bedroom eyes were, which lights to turn on and which to leave off, and whether or not or how soon they were gonna get it on.

Which,  _ of course _ she wanted to get it on! He was Dr Rumford Gold! She was a sexual woman, and he was a sexy man! The  _ sexiest _ man!

She’d thought about this moment in the abstract for years. A chance meeting perhaps, that would lead to a night of unbridled passion. Two strangers crossing paths and immediately becoming so overwhelmed with desire that the only course of action was to do it against the nearest available surface. It was a fantasy that played out like a movie, where she was always freshly shaved and said the right thing, he never blushed or stumbled on his words, and the lighting was just right. Where he’d ask,  _ “do you like that?”  _ and the answer would always be,  _ “Yes!” _

But now here they were, in her own apartment, eating meatloaf and discussing the merits of ready-made potatoes versus instant potato flakes! Him in his cute argyle socks with his shoes at the door, and her with her bare feet and chipped pedicure!

It was funny, wasn’t it? How the fantasy never included those kinds of precious details. Her nerves. His fear of geese. That he couldn’t read her spreadsheet without his glasses. That he had a habit of brushing a knuckle against his cheek every time he rest his fork back down on his plate.

What  _ was  _ that, anyway? Wherever did one pick up such a strange little tick?

It was cute though!

He was cute!

All of her worrying and trying to cater to some generic fantasy, when the reality was so much better! She couldn't live up to the person she was in her fantasies! And neither could he!

Why should they? It was so much better, to make each other nervous! To feel the butterflies! To stumble together!

_ “Belle?” _

She blinked her eyes back into focus and looked across the table at him, his hand rubbing over the back of his neck.

_ Yes. _ That was her Rumford. The one who stammered and dropped his phone and took the time to coordinate his socks with his shirt. The one who gave her butterflies.

_ “Please.” _ he cleared his throat and gestured at the table. “Let me help you clean up.”

  
  


*****

  
  


Belle was acting strange, Rumford thought.

One minute, she was calm and confident and flirtatious– and the next, she was… odd. Unfocused. They'd had a lovely time at the park and at the museum, but it seemed like ever since they’d gotten back to her apartment, she was all over the place.

He rolled his sleeves up and turned on the faucet, grabbing the first of the dirty dishes. He squirt some soap onto the sponge, inhaling deeply as the suds bubbled out of it.

_ Lemon verbena! _

He began to scrub away, but should he say something to her? She'd said something to  _ him _ when she noticed how uncomfortable he was around those geese. Surely it was the same thing?

What could she possibly be afraid of, though? In her own home?

There were some prescription bottles in the bathroom, he realized. Maybe she was taking medication for something and had missed a dose. But if that were the case, how should he bring it up? Or maybe they were her roommate's pills? Or they were just some old prescription painkillers or something?

Surely implying someone needed medication when they didn't would be insulting. Well, no. There wasn't anything wrong with needing medication! He certainly wouldn't think anything less of her for it! But at the very least, it would be overstepping a boundary, wouldn’t it? It was only their fourth date, and it wasn't his place to ask, but hers to  _ tell _ when she saw fit.

Rumford shook his head.

He was overthinking this.

Of  _ course _ she was nervous!

She had a first-time dinner guest!

Anybody would be nervous!

No, he just had to make sure she knew how much he was enjoying her company. She seemed to relax after he'd told her that her spreadsheet was impressive and that her meatloaf was delicious. When he asked about the translations and told her about his aunties. That had been nice, hadn't it? When she placed her hand over his?

_ “Rumford?” _

He blinked and looked over his shoulder at her. “...Hey.” he whispered. “What ah… what is it?”

“I… think that plate’s clean now.” she said.

He looked down at the spotless dish in his hands and scoffed. “...Aye. Look at that.”

She bit back a giggle and he smiled. Heavens, she was so cute! Every time she smiled at him, it felt as though he'd just swallowed a star, and could burst apart!

“Why… why don't you sit?” he said. “I'll finish this up.”

Belle looked at the couch longingly, but shook her head. “No. You're my guest.” she said, and rubbed her hand along his bare forearm. Such a simple touch it was, yet it set his nerves aflame. “You shouldn't be lifting a finger.”

“I-it's no bother.” he insisted, moving onto the next dish.

She reached over the sink and turn the faucet off. “Maybe it's bothering  _ me.” _

“Oh. I-I’m sorry.” he stammered. “I-I just thought–”

“I just mean, the dirty dishes aren't going anywhere, Rumford.” she said, offering her hand.  _ “...come.” _

So.

Calm, confident, flirtatious Belle was back.

He liked calm, confident, flirtatious Belle.

Well, he supposed he just liked  _ Belle, _ really. But it was a good feeling to feel calm, confident, and flirtatious. He would know because that was exactly how he'd felt this morning, and he was happy for her that she was feeling that way too.

She lured him over to the couch, and this time, she cuddled right up next to him.

She began rolling his sleeves back down for him, and the gesture made him smile. She gave him a finishing pat when she was done, and like a kitten, she borrowed her way under his arm and rested her head on his chest! And she was so warm and soft, and smelled so sweet!

“Thanks for coming to see me.” she said, peeking up at him. 

He took her hand and laced their fingers. “The pleasure was all mine.”

“You had a good time?”

“I did.” he nodded.

Belle shifted a little, getting more comfortable. “So um... what do you think of Storybrooke?” she asked with a sly little grin.

Rumford shrugged. “I think I'd visit again.” he answered, nonchalant.

“Are you sure? Because the farmer's market and the geology museum are about as much as it has to offer.”

“Well now,” he smiled, shifting to face her a little better. “I wouldn't say  _ that, _ Miss French.”

“No?” Belle nibbled her lip. “Then what  _ would _ you say, Dr Gold?”

“I’d say that you seem to have forgotten about the burgers at Granny's.” he deadpanned.  _ “Exceptionally _ good.”

She narrowed her eyes at him disapprovingly. It was the kind of answer that Neal would bemoan as a  _ dad joke _ – but so what? He  _ was _ a dad! And he was proud of it!

It occurred to him that Belle was trying to hold back a laugh, but she wound up snorting instead, and  _ oh– _ was she not the most precious thing?

“No, I'd say that the best it has to offer… are the people.” he said.

“Like Anna?” she teased.

He paused and pretended to think about it, betrayed by the smirk tugging his lips, and she snorted again.

“Actually…” He smiled and brought her hand up to his lips. “I was thinking of a certain librarian's assistant with brown hair,” he said, giving her a kiss on the knuckles,  “beautiful blue eyes,” another kiss, “...and an accent one wouldn't soon forget.”

Belle fought back a smile and glanced away.  _ “Rumford…” _

She said his name so differently, didn't she? So sweetly and playfully, with a smile on her face. He'd almost forgotten what that was like! He'd grown so accustomed to rolled eyes and exasperated sighs.

“It's… not too much?” he asked, just to be sure.

She shook her head and laced their fingers again. “It's just right.” she smiled, and they sat in peaceful silence for a minute, staring at their hands.

_ Just right. _ He liked that. He was feeling  _ just right _ right now. 

Belle drew a deep breath and sighed. “Can I uh, ask you something? Something kinda personal?”

He looked down at her with raised brows. One part of him worried what she might ask, but a bigger part of him didn't care, wanted to shed the layers and be seen. “Such as?”

She cleared her throat. “What's um… what's your favorite childhood memory?”

_ Oh. _ Well, that wasn't so bad at all now, was it?

Rumford pouted his lips thoughtfully. “Favorite childhood memory… I was about nine? Ten years old?” he exhaled, and he could see in her eyes, the way she was hanging onto each word. It was different, he realized, from the way people usually listened to him. How they always seemed disinterested in what he had to say, and were only waiting for the part that was preceded by a dollar sign. “First time I helped my Auntie Ainsley repair a watch… She liked to buy 'em from the scrap shops, fix them up, then sell them for a profit?”

A slight smile shaped her lips and she inched closer. “Mhmm.”

The corners of his mouth tugged upwards, and it suddenly felt as though the sun had risen in his heart. “Well, it’d been about a year since my da left,” he said. “And I remember I always used to  _ miss _ him, you know? I knew he wasn't worth it then, that he wasn't coming back, that he'd no’ hesitate to trade me for a pint... But I still just– I  _ missed _ him, ye know?”

Belle frowned and let out an uncomfortable little chuckle. “Your favorite childhood memory sounds awfully sad.” she said, brushing her thumb over his knuckles.

“No, no– it gets better, I promise.” he assured with a smile, wrapping his arm around her more snugly. “You see, because that watch… it didnae work at all when we got it, and Auntie Ainsley, well– she had this thing– She'd never give me the answers, never just  _ tell  _ me how to fix something. She'd explain how it was  _ supposed _ to work, and have me figure out what the problem was by myself.”

“She sounds like a wise woman.”

Rumford grinned at that. His aunties  _ were _ very wise, and he had no doubt that they would have liked Belle very much if only they could have met her. If only they could have had her over for supper. 

He cleared his throat. “So I spent days on this watch, and soon enough, I got it ticking, and she goes, ‘Oh, look at that. Works better than new! You're quite good, aren't you?’ and I didn't… I didn't know how to  _ respond _ to that, you know? I just smiled, cheeks all red… couldn't look her in the eyes…” he trailed off.

Belle pressed her lips into a thin line and reached out to tuck his hair behind his ear. “Your father never thought you were good at anything, did he?”

Rumford took a deep breath and shook his head. “I didn't realize it at the time. Didn't realize it for years– that he'd never actually said anything like that to me. But I suppose a part of me always knew. Because that night, after they'd tucked me into bed, my mind just kept playing her voice. Again and again.  _ ‘oh, you're quite good, aren't you?’ _ Over and over. It was like a shiny new toy I just couldn't put down, you know?”

“Mhm.” Belle nodded.

“Anyway,” Rumford scoffed, “I don't remember ever missing my da after that. I mean, I'd think of him from time to time, sure. Wonder where he was. But I never felt that  _ ache, _ that  _ wishing _ we could be together– ever again.”

“Do you miss them?” she asked. “Your aunties?”

“Oh, very much.” he chuckled, blinking away the tear that was beginning to well in his eye. “You know, I… I  _ call _ them my aunties, but–” he sniffled and wiped another away. “They really were my mums.”

Belle gave a wry smile.

“But I suppose back then it was better for them, safer for them, that I didn't go around calling them such.”

“How long has it been–” she cut herself off and shook her head. “I'm sorry, you don't have to–”

“No, it's fine.” he said. “They both passed when Neal was five? So… twelve, it's been.”

“You lost them both of them in the same year?” Belle asked. “That must have been so hard...”

“Aye. Ainsley got sick, and well, I-I think Edith died of heartbreak, you know?”

“Hm.” Belle pouted, and she curled into him, resting her head on his shoulder again. She was quiet for a long moment before finally confessing, “I think my dad has a broken heart.”

Rumford tilted his head. “What makes you say that?” 

“Oh, come on, Rumford.” She rolled her eyes. “You  _ met _ him.”

“I did.” he smiled, giving a half shrug. “But I'd still like to hear  _ your _ thoughts on the matter.”

Belle took a deep breath and stared down at her lap. “He's… different than he was, when mom was around.”

“How so?”

“I don't know, he just… he's not happy. He and I were never _ that _ close to begin with, and at first, losing mom made us closer, but now it's like, every time he tries to… to be a  _ father, _ he goes about it horribly and ends up pushing me further away. And I hate that because it makes me feel like  _ I'm _ letting  _ him _ down. Like I'm a bad daughter for letting that happen. He texts me, or calls me, and every time, I think, ‘oh, great, what does he want  _ now?’ _ and what kind of a person does that make me?”

Rumford took a deep breath. 

“Oh, God…” she groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I'm sorry, why am I telling you this?”

He scoffed and rubbed a hand over her arm. “Because I asked.”

She huffed a little laugh and sighed.

“You're not a bad daughter.” he assured. “I may not know your father, but… I can tell he loves you.”

“Well, I know he does, but…” she shrugged, “I don't know.”

Rumford took her hand and have it a gentle squeeze. “I can promise you, that no matter what, there is nothing you could do to make him feel like  _ you _ have let  _ him _ down. You're his daughter, and the responsibility he feels toward you doesn't just go away when you turn eighteen, or when you get your first real job, or you move out. It never does.”

Belle frowned and plucked at the hem of her skirt again, rolling it between her fingers.

“What is it?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Well, what about you? Your father–”

Rumford scoffed. “That man's not my father.” he said. “Not in any way that matters. But I can tell you, that if my aunties were still around, I've no doubt I'd still be getting phone calls every week to make sure I was eating enough, sleeping enough... changing my _ pants  _ enough.”

Belle huffed out a little laugh.

He looked down at their hands and sighed. “My son… every time he gets himself into trouble, or we have an argument, or anything, really– I can never bring myself to be angry or disappointed in him. Only disappointed in  _ myself,  _ you know?” He shook his head and looked back up at her, finding her smiling. “My first thought– my only thought– is, ‘what am  _ I _ doing wrong? What does he need that  _ I _ am not giving him?’”

“Well, that's because you're a good papa.” she chuckled, nudging her shoulder against his.

Rumford felt his heart swell at the compliment. There was exactly one thing he was more passionate about than antiques, it was being a good papa to his boy! 

_ “He _ just makes me feel like… like I can't make my own choices.” Belle sighed. “Like I'm still a child and can't think for myself.”

He pressed his lips together and exhaled heavily through his nose. “I think... sometimes we're so worried that we’ve let _ you _ down, that we're afraid to let go. We hold on too tight.” he admitted. “Come to think of it, most of our arguments happen because he thinks I’m babying him.”

“Maybe.” Belle mumbled. “It's just… he never really cared much when mom was alive, you know? He was never really involved in anything I did.”

“Well, I think that's just the thing.” he shrugged. “Probably figured you'd be alright as long as you had your mother. Until you didn't.”

“And now he's… afraid?”

“Aye. I mean… not that it’s any excuse, but… it’s probably hard to ah… well, to be the  _ uninvolved  _ parent– then suddenly one day be the  _ only _ parent. To come in late and realize your baby’s already grown up?”

_ Probably  _ hard. He knew that it was hard. Not from personal experience, thank God– but from the handful of conversations he’d have with Milah in the first few years after the divorce. How she’d have too much to drink and call him late at night to ask about Neal. Ask if she could move back in. If they could try again for their son’s sake because she missed seeing his face every day. How she’d start making promises Rumford knew she couldn’t keep.

But perhaps even worse than the phone calls, was the look of painful regret in her eyes when she’d see their son for the first time in months and realize how much she’d  _ missed.  _ That no, he didn't watch that cartoon, or collect those action figures, or like to play that game or be called that nickname anymore.

“It’s... such a learning curve.” he finally said. “Being a parent. I still hardly know what I’m doing, so your  _ father…  _ well, I’m sure he’s got a lot of catching up to do.”

Belle smiled and nestled her head against his shoulder. “What were they like?” she asked. “Your aunties. Can you tell me more about them?”

“Sure, sure.” Rumford blinked. “Ah… like what?”

Belle shrugged. “What was a typical Sunday like, in the  _ Rumford-and-his-aunties _ household?” she asked with a little giggle.

_ Ah, Sundays. _ He loved Sundays with his aunties. There was always so much hustle and bustle during the week, but Sunday? Sunday was when the world slowed down and they didn't have to have a care in the world about anything.

He smiled as the warm memories wrapped around him like a blanket.

“Well, ah… I'd usually waken up around nine,” Rumford said, “from the smell of Auntie Edith cooking breakfast. Eggs, beans, tatties, sausage… and ah–” he scoffed, “she'd always do a nice, sweet,  _ juicy _ tomato, seared with some cheese on top, which might have been my favorite part.” 

“You do a lot of thinking with your stomach, don't you?” she teased.

Rumford scoffed. He supposed he did, for better or worse. The corner of his mouth tugged upwards into a smile as he recalled all the knots and flips he felt in his belly yesterday morning before he picked up her flowers.  “ ...More than you know.”

Belle gave him a curious look, as though she knew that meant something but wasn't sure what. “Okay…”

“I wouldn't get out of bed though, until I heard the kettle go off. That was my alarm, you know? And I remember it was always right when I was walking in, that they'd be sharing a kiss, Ainsley seated at the table skimming the paper, and Edith having just poured each of our cups of tea. And we'd eat, and they'd talk… about what groceries needed to be picked up, or whether or not the piece of furniture they'd grabbed at a yard sale was salvageable. Simple things, ordinary things, I suppose. I'd scurry off to watch cartoons while they cleaned up. I think that time in the kitchen on Sunday morning was important to them, you know? I’d catch them in there, slow dancing and whispering to each other when I'd poke in for a glass of water or a snack.”

Belle smiled. “It sounds like they were very in love.”

“Oh, definitely. Beyond a doubt.” he chuckled. “When they were finished in there, Ainsley would come out and she'd say, ‘Come, Rumford. I need your help with a wobbly chair that needs fixing,’ or a radio that needs new wiring, or what have you. And Edith would warn her not to keep me too long, to make sure I wore gloves. She didn’t really approve of me getting my hands dirty, but I enjoyed it. Looked forward to it. My da didn't like me ah…  _ touching his things, _ ye know? So to be able to take these things apart, and tinker around and whatnot, was… special.”

"To do something you were good at?”

“Aye.” he nodded.

“My mom used to read to me.” Belle said, and Rumford smiled, because she’d mentioned that before at the bar, hadn’t she?

“I uh… I was sort of a weird kid.” she continued. “I didn’t really have any friends, never fit in, but… I loved books, because I could go to all these fantastic places with magic and talking animals, and... odd little girls like me who got to be heroes. Young princesses who would lead their people and save the kingdom and have their oddness be celebrated. Because it was always the thing that made them special, you know? That was their superpower.”

She wasn't looking at him, but staring across the room as she spoke, and Rumford didn't mind the opportunity it gave him to study her face. It hadn't occurred to him that she might think herself odd, but he supposed she was, in the best way possible. 

“She read to me every day. Every single day. Even as I got older and could read myself,” she chucked, “she'd come over and say, ‘here, let me read a few pages so you can rest your eyes a bit.’”

She paused for a moment to dry her eyes, letting out a little sniffle.

“You know, every now and then, I have to look at a picture of her, because I start to forget her face? But… I can  _ always _ remember her voice.”

“That's good.” Rumford whispered, rubbing his hand over her back in a way he hoped was comforting.

_ “All _ her voices.” Belle added with a laugh, finally looking him in the eyes again. “When she was the princess, or the dragon, or the witch, or the knight, or the fairy, or… you know, just her.”

He raised his brows. “Sounds like she was a real one-woman show, wasn’t she?”

She smiled a great, big smile and nodded.

“I don't know if I was any good at the voices,” he said. “But there was this one book of Neal's, with this sort of… goblin… wizard character? Never failed to make him laugh.”

She bit down on her lip, and there was no mistaking the question in her eyes.

_ “Oh, no.” _ he scoffed, feeling his cheeks grow hot. “My theatre days are over.”

She giggled, and he shook his head.

But  _ maybe, _ he thought. Maybe just this once, he could do it. For her. 

“It…” he took a deep breath and swallowed, summoning the character. The goblin, the wizard. He cleared his throat and raised a finger in the air.  _ “Well, it went something like this!” _ he declared with a flamboyant gesture, and it felt so silly and so embarrassing, but also so worth it– once he saw the smile on her face and heard her giggle.

_ “Oh, so you think it's funny?” _ he asked.  _ “We'll see who's laughing, when I turn you into a toad!” _

She burst into laughter and buried her face into his shoulder, and Rumford couldn't have wiped the smile off of his face of he tried.

She lifted her head up and wiped the corners of her eyes. “Well, Mister Goblin–” she giggled, “you can work your worst, because  _ I'm _ not afraid of you. Everybody knows that true love’s kiss can break  _ any _ curse.” she said, puffing her chest and getting up close.

He shrunk back. “...And if your prince never comes?” he asked, and half of him was Rumford, and half of him was the goblin.

“He will.” she said.

Rumford tilted his head, and after beat, she reached up and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek.

He looked at her, bewildered, and she seemed to be waiting for something, for a reaction. “Did you just... kiss the goblin?”

“Mhm!” Belle nodded.

“I–” he chuckled nervously, “I don't think that's quite how the story goes.”

"No.” She shrugged. “But I think it's better that way.”

_ Oh. _

Rumford touched his cheek and smiled. She was absolutely right, he decided. Princess kisses goblin was a much better story.

“I… think so too.” he said, and his heart was thump, thump, thumping, and he wanted to kiss her back, but they weren't the goblin and the princess anymore, but just Rumford and Belle.

“But I’d say you must have been  _ very _ good at the voices.” she said. “Very convincing goblin.”

Rumford scoffed. “Aye, well… I wish I could say the same for your naming skills.  _ …’Mister Goblin’?” _ he teased, and she laughed again, and when was the last time he'd made anyone laugh so much?

He wasn't funny! He was a jaded personal property appraiser! He had no sense of humor to speak of!

“Names are  _ powerful things _ in fairy tales!” she argued. “No self-respecting goblin would ever just  _ give _ his name away!”

“Aye? So he just goes by  _ Goblin?” _

“Mhm!” she beamed. “Only the princess calls him  _ Mister _ Goblin– because he's just a deserving of respect as anybody else in the kingdom!”

“She's a very compassionate princess, then.” Rumford said. “She'd make a fair and just ruler as queen, I think.”

They shared another laugh and settled down with a sigh, Belle with her head tucked against his chest. Rumford's could feel his heart thumping there, and he wondered if she realized how much of that thumping was just for her.

“What about… a secret?” she asked. “Or just, you know.” she shrugged and people's herself off of him so she could have him better. “Something you've never told anyone before? Even if it's totally silly. Like... you actually really enjoy airline food, or… I don't know.”

“Oh.” He could feel his cheeks were sore from smiling, and he had to think about this, didn't he? He was a private person after all, and there were a great many harmless things he'd never shared with anyone. The type of shampoo he used, that he preferred his orange juice with pulp, that he sometimes liked to pretend he had his own cooking program while he prepared dinner, or that he secretly raised his prices on customers who made any reference to “plantation style” in a favorable manner.

“You don't have to if–”

“No, no. It's fine,” he scoffed. “I just need a minute to ah, think about that.”

But then it hit him. He had a rather juicy thing he could share. Something a little scary, but something that he felt in his bones Belle would understand. Something he felt sure he could trust her with– and when was the last time he'd felt anything like that? He wet his lips and looked into her eyes, but they were much too bright– like looking in the sun– so he stared at their joined hands instead.

“I um… I'm bisexual.” he said, and his eyes, so anxious to see her reaction, snapped back up to her face.

“Oh!” Belle smiled, and there was a beat of silence before her lips rounded into an,  _ “Oh.”  _ She scoot closer to him. “You've… never said that before? To anyone?”

Rumford shrugged. “I’ve only realized it, about myself... recently? But I– I am.” he nodded. “You don't– y-you don't mind it? Do you?”

“No! No, no! Of course not!” she smiled.

“It's just that you hear people say things, like they could never be with a… well, that it means I'm confused or selfish, or-or that I'm some kind of…  _ unprincipled philanderer.” _

“I don't think you're  _ any _ of those things, Rumford.” she said, giving his arm a little squeeze. “And anyone who does doesn't have the first clue what they're talking about.”

A smile bloomed across his face. “Thank you.”

“I mean, Ruby's my best friend, and she's bi. And um… well I guess technically I am too, but I just… I have a strong preference for men? But I've gotten crushes on girls before too and–”

“Me too. Or I suppose it's more of a slight preference, but– yes.” he chuckled, mentally scolding himself for cutting her off. But oh! How good this felt! To tell people personal things and have them smile and say personal things back! To take something secret and make it shared!

“Yeah!” she laughed. “Gosh, I don't think I've told anyone that before  _ either.” _

“No?”

“I don't know… it just didn't seem like it mattered. It's not like I've never  _ been _ with a woman before, you know?”

“Aye. But I mean, my son– he said something to me last month, and it just… in retrospect, sort of dawned on me then, and– well, it's not as though I'm… ashamed of my… my  _ attraction, _ but I just– I haven’t been dating at all, between my academic work and raising Neal and running the shop, and well– I'm forty-five years old, you know? It seems like the sort of thing you sort out in your twenties.”

“Well, I don't think it's ever too late.” she said softly. “To um…to get to know yourself a little better.”

_ How did she do it? _ How did she have her way of making him feel better about everything? Taking something that felt completely insurmountable and making it so simple. She was magic, surely.

She caught him staring and blushed, turning away. “...What?”

“Well, I just… I think you're really quite wonderful, is all.”

She fought back a smile and squeezed his hand. “I think you're really quite wonderful too.”

“If it's alright, Belle… I'd like to kiss you.”

She laughed. “I'd like to kiss you too.”

“O-oh.” Rumford blinked. “Well then–” he shifted a little on the sofa so he could face her better.

“Yeah.” She wet her lips and did the same, her blue eyes flitting back and forth between his eyes and his lips.

He slowly closed the distance between them, and  _ oh, _ this was a  _ very _ different kiss from the one they'd shared in Boston, or the one they'd shared on the docks last night. This was…  _ soft. _ A gentle brushing of lips that slowly blossomed into more. Her hand came up to cup his cheek, as if to keep him from straying. As if him straying from this moment of pure bliss was even an option. No, no, he wanted to stay like this forever.

Evidently, so did she. He felt her breathing through her nose so that she wouldn't have to separate herself from him for even a second, and so he brought his hand up too. There was a tiny giggle as she wet her lips and parted them ever so slightly, and he couldn't help smiling.

He took her bottom lip between his own, and she scoot closer to him, letting the hand on his cheek wander to his neck and shoulders. Her fingers combed through his hair, lightly scraping at his scalp, and he reciprocated again without a thought– scooting closer and bringing his hand down to her neck.

The tip of her tongue swept against his lip then, and he opened his mouth to her, letting it slide over his. It sent a tingle through him, and he instinctively followed after her as she began pulling back. She huffed a little laugh though her nose and went back in, and this time it was his tongue over hers, and  _ oh, _ how different that felt!

Again and again, they went. Under and over, under and over, and if he'd a preference for one or the other, he couldn't say. She was soft and warm and  _ Belle, _ and it overwhelmed him in the best way possible. They'd stop when the thrill of it wore off, surely– but so far it only seemed to heighten, and so naturally the only choice was to keep going.

It was such a pleasant sort of breathlessness, kissing her. But then she let out a little moan and her thumb brushed against his earlobe– and what that simple touch sent through him was something else entirely. Hot and sudden  _ desire, _ plain and simple. He pulled back slightly, exhaling heavily against her cheek, and she followed after him, her hand starting to wander down from his shoulder and toward his lap.

She rubbed and squeezed his thigh, and  _ oh, _ it would have been nothing to just keep going, to let that hand tend to the ache in his body, but this was  _ Belle.  _ Surely she deserved better than a fumble on the couch, no? She deserved rose petals and silk. Candles.  _ Jazz. _ For the whole thing to be about her and how marvelous she was. Not how desperate for touch he was!

Besides– he would be leaving for Syracuse early tomorrow morning! They wouldn't have time to cuddle  properly! To watch the sunrise! She'd spend their first morning after alone, and that was unacceptable!

No, no. He had to stop this before a very specific part of his anatomy caught on and the whole thing just became awkward for both parties.  _ Yes, I have a massive erection and yes, I understand you're willing and eager to do something about it, but I don't want you to, so goodnight, if you need me I'll be in my hotel room taking a cold shower. _

He grasped her hand and pulled it away, breaking their kiss. “Belle, sweetheart, I–”

She pulled back and fluttered her eyes open. “Is something wrong?”

“No. I mean, yes.” he shook his head. “I mean– I don't think–”

Oh gods, his mouth was so dry and his tongue so tangled!

Rumford swallowed hard. “I don't want to go any further.” he blurted. “With you. Tonight.”

That sounded so blunt didn't it? He should elaborate.

“I mean, not  _ you–”  _ he tried to explain, ”because I'm definitely interested in ah... going further with you. Eventually. You're very um… nice, and ah... a-appealing. In that way. To me. I–”

She smiled and eased her shoulders, resting her hand over his. “It's okay, Rumford. We don't have to um, go any further. Tonight.”

Yes! Yes, they didn't have to do anything!

Except pay taxes and die!

“Or any other night. But I mean, well, I'd  _ like _ to think we can do that eventually…”  she said, wringing her hands together. “But um, you know. When we're ready?”

“You're… Certain?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I mean… I really want to have sex with you, but… I don't think I want to have sex with you  _ yet?” _

“Yes.” he whispered. “Yes exactly.”

“I'm just… having a lot of fun getting to know you, and um, even though I find you _extremely_ _desirable_ and I'm… well, I'm definitely ready _physically?”_ she admitted, “I think right now I'm... more _nervous_ about having sex with you than I am excited?”

Rumford nodded. “Aye.”

“‘Cause um...” she tucked her hair behind her hair and swallowed. “Well, I've been thinking about having sex with you all day and uh… it's just made me terribly self-conscious about everything I do or say? And I don't– Well, I just figured  _ you _ would want to get it on, but now that you say you're not ready, I actually feel kind of relieved? So um…” 

“We're on the same page, then?”

“Yeah.”

Rumford breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Besides,” she said, her demeanor brightening. “We can always um, do  _ other _ things…”

He furrowed his brows. “Like what?”

She bit back a smile and bent over, reaching under the couch. “Hang on, it should be right…”

He sat up, mouth agape as he watched. There was the sound of things sliding, rattling around, and he couldn't deny he was damnably curious to know what it was.

_ “Here.” _ she said, producing a metallic blue box with an exhausted huff. It rattled again as she set it on her lap, and only then could he read the top of it.

 

_ Boggle Deluxe: The 3-Minute Word Search Game _

 

“B–  _ Boggle?”  _ he asked. Not because he couldn't read, but because  _Boggle?_

“Yeah! Have you ever played it?”

_ Had he ever! _

“Aye." he smiled. "Aye, I know it.”

She nibbled her lip and wiggled her brows. “So what do you say… _ Dr Gold? _ ”

Oh, yes. This woman was all  _ kinds _ of marvelous. He wet his lips and leaned in closely. “I'd say you're on.  _...Miss French.” _

She smiled gleefully and removed the lid, carefully pulling out the plastic shaker full of lettered dice. “Do you um, wanna shake it? It’s kind of the best part…”

“Oh, no. Ladies first, I insist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...please don't hate me? 
> 
> lmao they're gonna bone eventually, I swear!!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @whimsical36 on Tumblr for beta reading this for me! <3

Belle shifted in bed as she finished reading her emails on her phone. It was well past time to get up and start the day, but since she was in no hurry to be anywhere this morning, she just rolled onto her back and switched to the gallery app instead.

She happily began skimming through the pictures from her weekend with Rumford, which included shots of the wares on display at the market, the things they had eaten, and views of the docks and the park. Rumford seemed to shy away from having his photo taken, but hadn’t refused when somebody offered to take their picture while they were walking along the docks Saturday evening.

It had come out quite well, Belle thought. The sun had just begun to set, she looked so happy with Rumford’s arm around her shoulders, and he looked so handsome with his pinstriped suit and boutonniere. She smiled and continued swiping, lingering on the handful of shots where she’d managed to capture glimpses of him– an arm, a shoulder, his back, a blurry figure in the distance. There were a few she’d taken at the soap vendor where he could be seen sniffing lotions and bars of soap, including one he must not have liked, judging by the funny look on his face. But then there was one of him smiling– or perhaps laughing– dimples and all, and she decided it was her favorite.

Her phone suddenly buzzed in her hand, the screen overtaken by an incoming call.

 _What a man, what a man, what a mighty good man!_  
_Say it again, now!  
__What a man, what a man, what a mighty good–_  

“Oh!” Belle gasped and scrambled to answer it, only to drop the phone onto her face. She sputtered and picked it back up, hoping she hadn’t accidentally answered it with her nose.

_A call from Rumford!_

Taking a deep breath, she tapped the screen and pressed the device to her ear. “Rumford?”

“Ah… Belle?”

Her insides did a little dance at the sound of his voice, and she squirmed under her sheets. “Hi, Rumford...”

“Hi.” he said, and _oh!_ His voice was just so soft and gentle and sweet!

Belle bit into her lower lip. “...Hi.”

“I ah… well, you said I should give you a call once I made it back to Syracuse.”

“Oh, yeah!” she smiled and snuggled up against her pillows. “How was the drive?”

“Interminable.” he scoffed. “I ah… wouldn’t have minded some company.”

“I’d have _happily_ kept you company if I could...” she said.

He let out a little chuckle, not seeming sure of what to say to that. “So ah… w-what are your plans for today?”

Belle blew out a long breath. “I have classes, but they don't start until two, so I get to sleep in.”

“Ah.” he chuckled. “You know, I tried to come into the shop on time at nine this morning, but ah… it seems my employees and my son have conspired to make sure I get some sleep after the trip, so… I just got out of bed myself.”

_Fresh out of bed Rumford!_

He probably had cute, matching pajamas, Belle thought– his eyes glazed and sleepy, and his hair mussed from the pillows…

“Sounds like they worry about you a lot,” she smiled, giddily tugging the covers up to her chin.

Rumford scoffed. “Aye, they do. Neal's always taken very good care of me– making sure I sleep, making sure I eat. And Ariel, she's… she's very sweet. Lovely young woman and a great worker. Don't know how I'd run the shop without her.”

“Well I'm glad you have people over there looking out for you.”

“Aye. Though I _did manage_ to steal copies of the proposals Ariel worked on before she kicked me out, so… I may still get some work done yet.”

“Rumford!” Belle admonished. “You’re so _bad…”_

“Oh, I know.” he said. “But from what I've seen so far, they all look great. Haven't found a thing I'd change yet.”

“Can I ask what the proposals are for? Or is that… I don't know,” she shrugged, “confident–”

“Sure, sure.” he said. “The ah… biggest project is restoring a dining set from the 1860s. ‘Nother is repairing an old family Bible that was printed and bound in 1807.”

“Oh, wow.”

“And the others aren’t proposals, but insurance valuations. Got one for a collection of model trains. Quite impressive. Another for an old set of silverware, one for a stamp collection... and another for a few paintings from the Ashcan School.”

Belle rolled onto her belly. Propping her chin upon her fist, she let out a wistful sigh.

After a beat, Rumford smacked his lips. “Which ah… which classes have you got today?”

“Oh, uh... resources for children, and then my capstone.”

“Ah. Resources for children, what's that all about?”

“Um… basically how to develop a curriculum for an elementary school library. How to target the needs of children who are still learning to read, or still uh, developing their comprehension skills.”

“Oh.” Rumford chuckled. “And that's… y-you’d enjoy that, you think? Working with children?”

“Well, yeah!” Belle smiled, beginning to paddle her feet through the air. “I uh, I love kids.”

“Oh. That's… that's wonderful, sweetheart.”

Of course she loved kids!

She wanted to have some of her own one day!

Did Rumford want to have more kids? Because she'd totally have kids with him. Lots of them.

Well, like… three, tops, but _still._

Or was it too soon to be thinking about having babies together?

 _No_ , Belle decided. That was silly!

She'd always known she wanted to have children. It was only natural, that if she was seeing somebody who gave her butterflies, and it was going well, that she'd daydream about a future with them! A future with _babies!_ Cute, snuggly, precious, little babies with their tiny hands and tiny feet and tiny noses and tiny everything! So soft, and with pudgy cheeks, too!

“...Belle?”

Her feet stopped paddling. “Mhm?”

Rumford coughed. “Well, I-I just wanted to say that I ah… I had a lovely time last night. _Th-the whole weekend,_ I mean.”

Belle nibbled her lip and snuggled her pillow a little more tightly. “...Me too.”

“I regret that I had to leave so soon, but…”

“I know.” she said, glancing toward the window. “You got work, I got work, school…”

“Aye.” he said. “But you know, I-I have to say it, Belle. You were... incredible last night.”

“Oh.” she giggled, feeling herself blush.

“It was a ah... honor, to see such a brilliant mind at work.”

“Well…” Belle fought back a smile, “the other members of the University _Word Warriors_ club don’t call me the _Bogglemeister_ for nothing.”

 _“...Quadricentennial.”_ he sighed. “Absolutely brilliant.”

“You weren't so bad yourself,” she murmured. “...Mr _epistemologies.”_

“No no–” he said. _“Child's play_ compared to your _schadenfreude._ I-I'd never even considered playing loanwords before, Belle. You… reinvented the game for me, sweetheart. Truly.”

“Oh, I don't know about that…” she blushed, her legs swaying in the air again.

“Oh, but _I do.”_ he crooned.

Belle nibbled her lip again and pressed her thighs together. “...Yeah?”

“I'll ah, never look at a Boggle grid the same way again.”

“You know, all this flattery will get you nowhere,” she teased. _“Dr Gold.”_

“No?” he asked. “Because so far it seems to be doing a great job of bringing that lovely blush to your face. _Miss French.”_

“Rumford!” she giggled. “What makes you think I'm blushing, hm?”

“Oh, I can tell.” he murmured. “I can hear it in your voice– sounds even _sweeter_ than usual...”

A delighted little squeal escaped her, and Belle clamped a hand over her mouth.

“...what?” he asked.

“Well, if anyone would know what I sound like when I’m blushing, it’d be _you…”_

“O-oh?” he stammered, and the silken quality that had been in his voice was suddenly replaced with something shaky and uncertain. “I–”

“It’s hard _not_ to blush whenever I’m talking with you, Rumford…” she spelled out for him.

“...Oh,” he chuckled. “Well… I’m afraid _I’m_ the one who’s blushing now, sweetheart.”

  
  


*****

  
  


Ruby had just crawled out of bed and was headed to the kitchen when she heard giggling from Belle's bedroom. She paused and hovered outside the door, unable to resist the temptation to eavesdrop.

_“Rumford…”_

She couldn't make out much, or any of Dr Gold's half of the conversation for that matter, but they were definitely exchanging sweet little nothings.

 _Thank God,_ Ruby thought, continuing towards the kitchen. _They finally boned._

She hadn't expected Dr Gold to still be in town, but she supposed she couldn't blame the guy, either. If there was any excuse for him to extend his stay in Storybrooke, being too worn out from a night of dancing the horizontal Mambo would be it.

A high-pitched squeal sounded from Belle's room, and Ruby smothered a laugh. The apartment had been completely quiet when she got home late last night, but it appeared a good night's sleep had the two lovebirds ready for another roll in the hay.

Once in the kitchen, Ruby prepared herself a big bowl of cereal and carried it (and the box) over to the couch – making sure she had a good view down the hall. Belle and Dr Gold was one walk of shame she wouldn't want to miss. And surely enough, within a few minutes, there was some movement down the hall and Belle's door creaked open.

Belle appeared, raising her arms up and letting out a big yawn. She had a little pep in her step as she came down the hall and into the kitchen.

“Hey there, peanut.” Ruby said behind a sly grin. “Ya have a good time last night?”

“Mhm!” Belle answered, opening the fridge.

“Looks like it.” she teased.

Belle plucked a cup of yogurt out of the fridge and spun around for the utensil drawer, grabbing a spoon before slamming it shut with a saucy sway of her hips. She had a big smile on her face she was clearly trying to be casual about– which was what Belle _always_ did when she was dying to tell her something. But of course, in typical Belle fashion, she was just standing there, leaning against the counter, happily eating her yogurt like she was auditioning for a Yoplait commercial.

“So…” Ruby took the bait. “How was–”

“I showed Rumford my spreadsheet.” Belle volunteered.

“Oh, God.” Ruby dropped her spoon into her bowl and leveled her a look before remembering that whatever had happened last night, clearly went well. And naturally– she was curious. “...What did he say?”

“That it was a _highly valuable_ set of data and _incredibly helpful.”_ Belle said proudly, joining her on the couch. “...and then he um, called me sweetheart. Again.”

Ruby blinked. Of course they'd end up making foreplay out of the damn spreadsheet.

Should've expected it, honestly.

“Anyway, we ate dinner after that… he really seemed to enjoy the meatloaf by the way... and then we talked and cuddled right there…” Belle continued, looking fondly at the other end of the couch as she licked the yogurt off of her spoon. “And um, things _may have_ gotten a little heated after that…”

Ruby flared her nostrils and tried not to fidget too noticeably where she sat.

They boned. On the couch. Where she was now sitting. Less than twelve hours later. Eating.

Hadn't she specifically begged her _not_ to do it on the couch?

Belle sighed. “Rumford is _such_ a good kisser, Rubes.” she said. “And he smells _so_ good. Have you ever made out with someone who smells _really_ good? Because it's like… you feel all hot and tingly from the things they're doing with their mouth, and then when you pull back to catch your breath, it's like _BAM!_ Sexy smell!”

“Yeah. It's… something else…” Ruby nodded along, peering down the hall. Where was the man of the hour, anyway?

Belle glanced over her shoulder, spoon in her mouth, and frowned when she saw that nothing was there. “...What is it?”

“He takin’ a shower or something?”

Belle creased her brows. “What?”

Ruby shrugged. “Rumford.”

She shook her head. “He left the apartment at eleven or so last night. Had to leave really early this morning for Syracuse– It's like a six-hour drive, you know.”

“Oh. I just thought I heard…” Ruby trailed off.

“Heard what? We were on the phone.”

Ruby rolled her eyes and set her cereal bowl on the coffee table. Doing her best impression of Belle, she dropped her wrist and giggled, _“Rumford!”_

Belle’s eyes went wide and she huffed. “I don't _sound_ like that!”

Ruby threw her head back and laughed. “Yeah, you do!”

“Do _not!”_ Belle said, throwing the empty yogurt cup at her. It bounced off Ruby's arm and tumbled onto the floor.

“Around _him?_ That is _exactly_ what you sound like!”

“Yeah, well–” Belle began to protest, “...maybe Rumford happens to be really funny.” she said, lifting her chin.

Ruby shot her a skeptical look. “Is he, Belle?” she asked. _“Is he_ really funny?”

Belle pursed her lips, refusing to look her in the eyes. “Okay, fine. Maybe he's just really cute and I like him a lot and can't help getting all giggly around him.” she admitted. “So what?”

 _“...Mhm.”_ Ruby grinned, picking her cereal bowl back up and continuing to munch away. “Nothing.”

“Come on,” Belle sighed. “You and Dorothy don't act giggly and cute around each other? Not even a little?”

“Nah.” Ruby swallowed. “But then again, I don't need to _act_ cute. I just _am,_ ” she shrugged. “I mean– look at me.”

Belle narrowed her eyes, trying not to laugh.

“So.” Ruby shoveled another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. “...How was it? Did he uh... _give you full market value?”_ she asked, wiggling her brows.

Belle tilted her head. “Huh?”

“Oh, come on!” she whined. “Full market value! That was good!”

“...what?”

_“Hang on.”_

Ruby brought her bowl up to her lips and tilted her head back, slurping the milk down before setting it back on the coffee table.

“The sex!” she said, throwing her hands up in the air. “Did you guys finally _bone_ or what?! I need to know! _Did. My girl. Get. Laid._ Did she ride that–”

“Oh!” Belle realized with a smile. “No.”

Ruby deflated in an instant. _“What.”_

“No. We uh, we didn't have sex.” she said, dusting some imaginary crumbs off her lap.

Ruby rubbed a hand over her face and groaned. “Christ, _I'm_ starting to get blue balls here!” she said. “I don't even _have_ balls, Belle!”

“I mean, we almost did…” she mumbled.

Ruby gestured impatiently for her to continue. _“But…?”_

Belle shrugged. “We just decided we aren't ready for that yet.”

“I mean–” Ruby huffed. “That's cool. And I respect that. But–” she trailed off and flapped her arms wildly in frustration.

Belle laughed. “We wound up playing Boggle instead. You know– he's quite good!”

“I'm… sure he is.” Ruby grumbled in defeat.

There was a sound then, coming from the bedroom.

 _“...Phone.”_ she said, nodding towards the hall.

Belle raised her brows. “What?”

“Your phone, peanut. Someone's calling you.”

“Oh.” she blinked and hopped off the couch. “ _God,_ how can you hear that?” she asked, following the muffled melody to her bedroom.

Ruby shrugged. “We all have our gifts, Belle. Clairvoyance, supersonic hearing, _mad Boggle chops…”_

Belle rolled her eyes and disappeared into her room, returning a moment later with reluctant pout on her face.

“What's the matter?” Ruby snickered. “You look like somebody spilled coffee on your copy of _Pride and Prejudice.”_

“It's my dad.”

“Yeah, I figured.” she said, darting a pointed glance at Belle's phone, where it continued to blare _Papa Don't Preach_ in her hand. “Your ringtones? A little on the nose. What does he want?”

Belle let out a deep sigh. “I don't know.”

  
  


*****

  
  


Every so often, Rumford would receive a call from David, inviting him out for _a couple beers._ Usually he'd find some excuse not to go– Working late tonight. Going in early tomorrow. Too many errands to run.

But when David called Tuesday, asking him to come out for _a couple beers_ on Thursday, Rumford had been feeling a little saucy and said yes.

He knew just what the source of his newfound sauciness was, too.

It was no doubt the work of certain aspiring librarian in Maine. He and Belle had talked about so many things last weekend– the sort of things that emboldened a man, and made him feel more like he had a right to the space he occupied in the world. Like he had something to offer, something to give. That invitations to the pub from someone as likeable as David Nolan were born of a genuine desire to actually enjoy his company rather than being some reluctant act of pity.

Of course David Nolan wanted to _hang out_ and _have a couple beers_ with Rumford Gold!

Rumford Gold was sharp and witty! A good listener! Was maybe even a little handsome, depending on who you asked– though he'd prefer it if you asked Belle.

And so on Thursday night, Rumford drove up to one of the Irish pubs in town. To meet David. For a couple beers.

Not _literally_ a couple beers– as he didn't drink beer and intended to order whisky instead– but _figuratively_ a couple beers, as in _heterosexual male bonding._

...Or was it just platonic male bonding?

When he and Jefferson used to go out, they didn't have to do so under the guise of some passive activity like drinking beer! They'd just say it: _I haven't heard from you in a while. We should catch up._

At the very least, it would be _I’d like to try that new restaurant that opened up._ But even then, if they wanted to try the new restaurant that opened up, then they _tried the new restaurant that opened up._ Critiqued the menu, the decor, the lighting concept, how comfortable the chairs were.

Rumford had been on this earth long enough to know that when someone invited you out for _a couple beers,_ their intentions were rarely so simple.

But maybe _a couple beers_ wasn't a heterosexual thing so much as it was a “men who aren't attracted to each other” thing. Maybe two men who, while attracted to other men but not necessarily _each_ other, also went out for _a couple beers._

Rumford reached the pub’s front door and hesitated.

 _Was this what people meant when they said bisexuals were confused?_ Because he was definitely feeling confused right now. As confused as he was certain about his interest in men and women.

Should he tell David about his little discovery, he wondered?

It had felt liberating to tell Belle. Like a weight off of his shoulders. But now that he was back in Syracuse, the weight seemed to have crept back over him.

Maybe he shouldn't.

It seemed rather self-important, didn't it? _Oh, let me just interrupt you for a second there to tell you that I like men._

Just... unprompted like that.

And what if David took it the wrong way? Thought he was confessing to being attracted to _him?_ What if it made things weird?

It wasn't fair, was it? Nobody else had to work up the nerve to tell their friends and colleagues that they were _heterosexual!_ People just assumed they were and there was never any need to correct them!

Rumford shook his head and finally stepped inside the dimly lit pub, doing his best to avoid eye contact with the hostess– to look like he knew where he was going because it was always uncomfortable when you were meeting somebody and couldn't find them. Then the hostess would try to offer you a table, and you had to explain to them that you didn't need their help finding a table– you just needed a few more seconds to adjust to how bloody dark it was in there so you could distinguish one shadowy figure at the bar from another.

Fortunately however, the hostess was preoccupied with taking a dinner reservation and it never became an issue. Rumford swept past her podium without having to endure so much as a gratuitous service smile!

Anyway, he'd want to tell Neal at some point, too. If there was anybody he wanted to completely be his true self around, it was his boy.

But what about somebody like Miss Halloran? Was it any of her business to know? It'd be nice if she knew, he supposed– they worked alongside each other every day at the shop after all. But still, he didn't feel like they had the kind of relationship that warranted a whole conversation about his sexuality.

Because what _now?_ Would he just have to keep bringing it up again and again? With every person he grew close to? Where did one draw the line? Was he just supposed to spend the rest of his life explaining himself to people?

_Bloody hell._

How exhausting!

“Gold?”

If only there was some way he could… broadcast that information, but on a low frequency. Something subtle that whispered, _“bisexual,”_ to whomever was listening. He wouldn't be _hiding_ it, but he wouldn't be making a big deal of it either. It’d just be _there._ Like any other clearly observable fact about him. Like his height, or his hair color, or the keen eye for aesthetics that frequently had ladies in department stores approaching him and asking his opinion while they shopped for their husbands.

A hand clapped over Rumford's shoulder and he startled.

“You alright there, man?” David asked.

Rumford blinked.

Jefferson never clapped him on the shoulder like that before either. He would _gently touch_ his shoulder. Or brush his arm. Sometimes, when they were being brought to their table at a restaurant, he'd trail behind him, splaying a guiding hand over his back.

 _God,_ Rumford thought.

How oblivious _was_ he?

“Aye. Just… dark in here, is all,” he said.

“Yeah, you can say that again,” David chuckled. “Got us a spot right here, buddy,” he said, pointing to a vacant spot at the bar.

 _Yes,_ Rumford thought as he followed David over.

His bisexuality wouldn't be a big deal unless someone else _wanted_ to make it a big deal– in which case he could show them the door. After all, what did he have to lose? He was a grown man who owned a house in the historic district! It's not like his _father_ could _disown_ him!

Bastard already did that when he was eight years old!

Risk getting fired from his job? It was _his_ business!

Lose customers? _Please._ Their work had been featured in _Antiques Quarterly_ half a dozen times! The waiting list to get an appraisal with him was a month long! Restoration work– four!

_Four months!_

If _half_ those people decided they didn't want their R  & J Adam dinette chairs repaired by a man who liked men, what did he care!?

Fewer deadlines for him to worry about!

He’d probably sleep better!

What else was there...

Milah making insensitive remarks over dinner when she visited for the holidays?

_She did that anyway!_

“So, what's up?” David asked, seating himself on one of the barstools. “What's happenin’?”

Rumford stared at the empty stool beside him for a moment, determining how best to climb up without making a spectacle of himself. “Oh, nothing, nothing...” he dismissed. “Ah… how about you?”

“Good, good.” David nodded, leaning over the counter to flag down the bartender.

Rumford fidgeted into his seat, struggling to make himself as comfortable as was possible on a wooden bar stool. “That's… good.” he coughed.

The bartender wasted no time getting their orders, a small diversion for which Rumford was grateful.

“It's good to see you, buddy.” David said.

“Aye. …Good to see you too.” Rumford nodded.

Good.

Good, good, good.

Everything was good.

“We never really get to just _hang out,_ you know?”

Rumford raised his brows, his mouth hanging open dumbly. “Ah… no. We don't, don't we?”

“Well, thanks for comin’ out.” David said.

Rumford's pulse thickened.

_Coming out?_

Did he _know?_ Could he tell? Had everyone already known he was bisexual except him?

No, no, Rumford decided. He meant _coming out_ literally. Coming out physically.

“...aye.” he said, relaxing a little. “Of course.”

The bartender, absolute godsend that she was, set their drinks in front of them then, and Rumford didn't hesitate to take a sip from his glass.

Well, _two_ sips.

David took a hefty swig of his beer and let out a refreshed sigh. “We should do this more often, you know?”

Rumford huffed a little laugh through his nose.

 _Should they?_ Because it'd only been five minutes and he already wanted to go home.

He took another sip. “Aye. For sure.”

At this point, Jefferson would have remarked on how disappointing and uninspired the latest blockbuster films were, or how heartbroken he was to have just finished a novel he'd been enjoying so terribly much. He might have shared an amusing anecdote about one of his students, which would've reminded Rumford of a story about a particularly difficult customer they'd had at the shop.

Oh, he and Jefferson would have each other in stitches, wouldn't they? And then as they settled down and caught their breath, their eyes would meet, and...

Rumford cleared his throat and took another sip, ignoring the warm sensation in his chest.

“How ah… how was the game?” he asked. Because there was always a game.

“Good,” David nodded, “Blue Jays just secured themselves a spot in the World Series, so I'm happy about that.”

Rumford gave a tight-lipped smile. “That's… wonderful.”

He took another swig and frowned. “You sure you're alright, buddy? You seem…”

“No.” Rumford shook his head. “Just... thinking.” _About how gay I am._

“Something on your mind?”

“Ah…” he floundered, trying to think of something. Anything but the conversation he wanted but didn't feel quite ready to have.

“Ye know, we got this chair in,” he settled with. “An old Chippendale. And the right back leg _? Completely_ snapped at the joint.”

 _“Oh.”_ David scowled. “Sounds like you got your work cut out for you.”

Work. Always a safe topic.

“Aye. Hell with the hide glue, I'm gonnae need to use some _epoxy.”_ Rumford said, hiking his brows emphatically.

“Is it mahogany? Walnut?” David asked. “‘Cause I've got a bunch of scrap lying around, if you think you'll need to carve in and reinforce that.”

“Aye. Aye, for sure. That'd be great.”

“Yeah, whatever you need. And hey– if you think you'll need some power tools, you could just bring it over to the workshop. _Mi casa es su casa_ , alright?”

Rumford frowned.

“...What?” David asked.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I haven't touched a _power tool_ in years.”

“So? I'm sure you've still got it, man.” David said, giving his shoulder a shove– and what was with all the _shoving!?_ And the _smacking?_ His poor shoulder was going to dislocate if he kept on with that!

“I dunno. I… I think it might be time for me to start turning away jobs like this,” Rumford chuckled. “Jewelry, watch repair? Sure. But no more of this... _carpentry.”_

“Hey now– the work you did on that Sheraton side chair a few years back was a _master class._ ” David said, wagging his bottle at him. “Thing looked brand new.”

“Well, I-I appreciate that, but…”

“But what?”

Time for another sip. “...I dunno.”

“Well, I'm just saying.” David said. “Come by the workshop sometime, play with the jointer and the table saw, and tell me you don't miss it.”

"Eh…” Rumford hesitated. "I'll consider it.”

He didn't necessarily miss the work. It's just that that kind of work involved things like safety gear, and… _wearing blue jeans._

David set his beer down with a heavy sigh. “Alright. So, I gotta be honest,” he said. “There's uh… there's a reason I called you out here.”

Rumford furrowed his brows. Swallowed hard.

_I gotta be honest? There's a reason I called you out here?_

Had more terrifying words ever been spoken?

“You see, I got this thing I was kinda hoping you could give me some advice, some perspective, on.”

Rumford pouted and started blankly ahead. What could David Nolan possibly need _his_ advice on? Picking out anniversary gifts, hopefully. He was good at that. Customers at the shop were always looking for something a little off the beaten path there. Or perhaps planning an outfit. Or the best approach for appraising something. Or–

“It's about Emma.” David explained.

“Oh.” Rumford smiled and turned to face him a little better, because that was another matter entirely! “What is it?”

“Well…” he stared ahead for a moment and sighed. “She's going to be doing all these after school programs this year, and so Mary Margaret and I decided to get her a cell phone.”

“A _cell phone?”_ Rumford scoffed. “She's nine years old! Neal didn't get one until he got his driver's license last year!”

“I know! It seems crazy,” David laughed. “But we talked about it, and we agreed we wanted to have a way for us to reach each other, no matter what. Because in this world, who knows what could happen, right?”

“Aye, I suppose…” Rumford said.

“But here's the thing: Phones these days, you know, they aren't _just_ _phones_ anymore.”

“Oh, tell me about it.” he agreed.

“I mean, it's crazy!” David said. “They can take pictures and send pictures and go online and talk to strangers and– it's scary.”

“It is.”

“So Mary Margaret found out about this software that lets you monitor everything they do on their phone. And I mean _everything._ And she seems really gung-ho about it, but it just…”

“Feels wrong.”

 _“Invasive._ Yeah.” David said. “I mean, we do _everything_ on our phones these days. But when I was a kid, we didn't have _cell phones!_ It was like, you and your buddies rode your bikes and hung out at the baseball fields, and everything was fine as long as you were home before dark, you know?

Rumford hesitated.

Friends?

Bicycle rides with one's buddies?

Baseball?

“ ...Aye.”

“And look, there's plenty of stupid stuff my friends and I said and did in those days that my mom never knew about. That I _still_ wouldn't want her to know about. But it was just harmless fun, you know? We all turned out fine and stayed out of trouble.”

“For sure, for sure.”

“So I mean… the fancy phones… are they not just… this generation's baseball field?” David said. “I mean, Emma's nine now, but in a few years… well, when does it stop? Where do we draw the line? What happens when she starts liking boys? Are we–”

 _“Or girls.”_ Rumford chimed in. “...Or both.”

David pinned him with an odd look. Not surprise or disgust, but something unreadable.

Rumford looked down at his glass and smacked his lips. “...You never know.”

 _“Right?”_ David said. “It just feels like something out of an Orwell novel, is what I'm saying.”

“I understand.”

“So… I don't know what to do. I want to protect our daughter from all the ugly in the world, but… she should still have the right to her _privacy._ And the right to just… be a kid and make her own mistakes and learn from them.” he sighed. “You did a good job with Neal. What would you do?”

“Ah…”

What would he do?

What would _Barbara Rumford Gold_ do?

“I… ah… Well, it… The thing–” he cut himself off with a sigh.

David was listening so attentively, with eyes so wide, so gleaming, so earnest– and he really didn't want to botch this up!

He'd given good advice to Belle though, hadn't he? And her father?

That was different, though. Neither of them had _asked_ for advice. They'd just said something that prompted him to speak from his own experience!

Rumford rubbed a hand over his mouth.

_Oh._

Yes.

Life experience and all that.

“My ah… da always wanted to know everything.” he finally said, and David leaned in a little closer.

“He was always watching and demanding to know what I was doing, or reading. Who I talked to at school, if I had touched any of his things while I was gone, just… everything. He'd notice something wasn't quite right in the flat, and it was always my fault, and he'd get so angry and–”

Well, perhaps it wasn’t necessary to go into _quite_ so much detail.

“I was walking on eggshells all the time,” he went with, “and I… I hated this feeling that nothing was just _mine._ And I don't just mean material things, but– well, the more he demanded to know, the more determined I was to keep things from him, you know? Not with any sort of malicious intent, but just so that I could have _something.”_

David pressed his lips together and nodded. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”

“So I knew I didn't want Neal to feel that way, not ever.” Rumford said. “The thing is, for me… being a parent… it's not my job to make Neal's choices for him. It's… teaching him how to make his own, you know? I mean, he really cocks things up from time to time, but we all do. That doesn't make him a bad kid. But the important thing, is that he should know that no matter what, he can come to me and expect me to help him through whatever's he got on.”

“Absolutely.”

He swirled his finger through the condensation on his glass and smiled. “Two, three years ago, I get a phone call. I answer, and it's Neal calling from a friend's phone, and he goes, _‘Pop. We fucked up.’_ ”

David huffed out a laugh.

“Turns out he and his friends had stolen the keys to their parents car and taken it for a joyride. Big pickup truck, with the four wheel drive, and they decided to take it off-road. It had been raining though, and they lost control and swerved straight into a damn tree.”

“Ouch.”

“And I was… so disappointed, because I knew he knew better than that, you know?”

“We usually do, don't we?” David chuckled.

“...Aye.” Rumford agreed, hiking his brows. “So I hop in the car and drive out to them, and they're fine, thank God. Neal can hardly look me in the eyes of course– he knows what he's done. But then his friends are practically grovelling at my feet, _‘please don't make us call our parents!’_ which... they'd mangled the fender on the bloody thing, there wasn't any other way about it– but I was glad to know that when my son found himself in that situation, he felt that he could call me. That he wasn’t afraid to call me. Because he didn't have to, you know? It wasn't _my_ car, they swore up and down that he hadn't been the one driving, none of them had gotten hurt save for a few nasty bruises... He could've kept it from me. Easily. But as horrible as the circumstances were, I was glad to know that at some point, the three of them were pacing around, scared, not knowing what to do, and that _my son_ went, 'I know: let me call my da. He'll know what to do.’”

David sat quietly with the corners of his mouth pinched. “...That had to be terrifying, though.” he finally said, his eyes fixed on the wall.

Rumford tapped a finger on his glass, thinking of what to say. It _had_ been terrifying, and if there was any chance that he could go back and ensure it had never happened, he’d no doubt that he’d take it.

“I think… it's easy to be scared, to get angry in those situations.” he said. “But if there are children who respond well to that, I can tell you Neal was never one of them. I learned that I've got to bite my tongue where that's concerned. Try to be calm about it when I tell him he needs to be more careful, that what if they hadn't been so lucky and they'd gotten seriously hurt– or worse. Because all the times I panicked and lashed out at him, I could see it in his eyes, the same resentment I would have toward my da. That urge to pull further away.”

David rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Do you ever regret not knowing what they were up to though? Before it was too late, I mean.” he said. “Because like you said, what if they weren't so lucky?”

“Of course you do.” Rumford admitted. “But… the more they know you're watching, the better they get at hiding those things, you know? I know I did. And it took years after my da left for me to… unlearn that.” he said. “At the end of the day, you’ve got to trust them. And hear me when I say that _they’ll violate that trust._ Likely more than once. But if you can’t give them your trust to begin with, they’ll never understand the value of it, and they’ll never want to work to repair it.”

David released another slow, heavy breath and hiked his brows.

“It’s… not easy,” Rumford chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood.

“No, you’re right.” he agreed. He gently drummed his hands over the bartop, and looked at Rumford with a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks, man. I’ll uh, think about that.”

Rumford smiled back and nodded. “Aye. Of course.”

“So, speaking of kids…” David grinned, leaning back in his seat. “You ready to be an empty nester?”

Rumford slouched his shoulders. “I'm… excited for him.”

“He's a good kid.” David offered. “I don't think you have anything to worry about.”

Rumford scoffed.

Worried about Neal? _Ha!_ He wasn't worried about Neal! Neal was a smart boy! With a good head on his shoulders!

No, no! He was worried about _himself!_

Coming home to an empty house! Not having anyone to nag about leaving dishes in the sink or laundry in the dryer! Not having anyone's profanity to correct! Not having a messy bedroom that called his name every time he walked by, luring him to come in and tidy up– just a little bit!

Because when you took all of those things away, what was there left to be grumpy about!?

_Dust bunnies?_

There was a pathetic thought.

Rumford Gold. Home alone with nothing but his dusty trinkets to keep him company.

It made a heavy feeling settle in his stomach, and he frowned at his glass.

“Hey, man.” David said, putting a hand in his shoulder. “You’ll be alright. Now you get to… _relax._ Focus on you.”

Rumford nodded, but his frown stayed in place.

That's what they said, the other parents. How ‘done’ they were, and how now they would finally have the time to rekindle their marriages, or make that career change, or retire, or start that side business they'd always dreamt of.

But he didn't have a marriage to rekindle! He was happy with his work and he was _proud_ of his shop! And above all else, he didn't feel ‘done’ with kids! He _loved_ being a Papa and he couldn't shake this feeling that he had more of that in him!

And so he'd just nod along and smile, ignoring the hollow feeling in his heart. Pretending he didn't feel like something was missing.

“You know…” David said, setting a hand on his shoulder, “I really _do_ consider you a friend, Rum.”

Rumford sighed and stared down at the bartop.

“I know Neal leaving for college is gonna be hard, or maybe just _weird_ for you, but– well, if you ever wanna talk about it, I'm all ears.” he said. “‘Cause I know you'd do the same for me. Because, well, in a lot of ways, you're... kind of like the dad I never had.”

Rumford looked up at him and cocked his head to the side, at a loss for words.

David smiled. “I mean, I _had_ a dad, but… you’re like… a _second_ dad. Or a really close uncle, or–” he cut himself off and shook his head. “Point is, when I have stuff I can't talk to anyone else about– the kind of stuff I _wish_ I could talk to my dad about– I know I can come to you.”

Rumford could feel the beginning of tears coming on, and blinked them away. “I– Thank you.” he whispered and nodded.. “That… _thank you.”_

David gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“You're… _sort of_ like a son to me,” Rumford managed with an uncertain shrug. “Sometimes?”

Because while _yes,_ he did have a special fondness for David, it just wasn't the same. Mentor and mentee, surely. But father and _son?_ That felt a bit of a stretch.

David seemed to pick up on his uncertainty and looked away, taking a quick swig of his beer. “You don’t have to– it's alright, I understand.”

“I… appreciate that, though.” Rumford said. _“Truly._ Thank you.”

“Well, however you choose to look at it.” David chuckled, “I'm glad we're friends.”

_Friends._

He and David were _friends._

A certain feeling overcame him, and Rumford hesitated. But after a beat, he turned toward David– toward his _friend_ – and clapped his hand on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Me too.”

His hand lingered there for a moment, and what was an appropriate length of time to be touching someone’s shoulder like this, anyway?

He released his grip and let his hand drop down, making a point to not snap it away too quickly nor drag it away too slowly.

“Anyway–” David coughed, “how uh… how are things with Belle? You guys still seeing each other?”

“Yeah.” Rumford nodded and cleared his throat, folding his arms over the bartop. “Yeah, we're still… seeing each other. As much as we can, at least.”

_Time for another sip._

David motioned for the bartender. “And how's that working out?”

“Good…” he mumbled. “I think.”

“You _think?”_ David chuckled. “Well, do you like spending time with her?”

Rumford rolled his eyes. “Of course I do!”

“The distance is pretty tough though, huh?”

Rumford bobbed his head from side to side for a moment. “It's… not ideal.” he admitted. “But… we still talk, exchange letters.”

David raised his brows. “Letters? As in– snail mail?”

“Why?” he shot back defensively. “What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing! Nothing.” he said. “Just–”

“We... like the personal touch.” Rumford said, his voice sounding far too high in pitch for his liking. “And having something physical–”

“No, I get it.” David assured. “It sounds really romantic.”

Rumford took a deep breath, easing his posture.

 _Damned right,_ he thought. He was an utterly romantic fool! He could admit that to himself! Just not out loud.

“I visited her, last weekend.” Rumford said. “It was… nice. We… we had a lovely time together.”

“You don't seem… too enthusiastic.” David observed.

“No, it's fine.” he shrugged.

“You sure?” David grinned. “Because a month ago, you were waxing poetic about this woman over the phone to me. Something about... the first day of spring?”

Rumford scowled. He'd almost successfully forgotten about _that_ conversation.

“Like I said. If you got something on your mind, man, you can tell me.”

Rumford glanced around the bar for a moment, doing his best to stall until the bartender returned with their drinks.

“Can I– I know you said– and if I'm crossing a line, _please.”_ Rumford stammered, and at last his glass was set down in front of him. “But I-I-I _have a question.”_ he finished, and rushed to take a heavy swig.

David raised a brow. “Okay…”

“About, well, the…” Rumford shifted closer and lowered his voice to a whisper, ignoring the tightness in his chest. “The _other_ other thing.” he said. “The bees.”

“Oh.” David's eyes went wide, despite how hard he was clearly trying not to let them. “What about the uh, _bees?”_

 _God,_ how did he ever think this was a good idea? For even a fraction of a second?

But it was too late now. He'd already said the word. _Bees._

“Just– it– well, Belle and I.” Rumford said. “W-we had dinner at her place, and then we were on the couch and we were talking… and the talking turned into cuddling and the cuddling turned into kissing and– well, then she… _made her intentions clear.”_ he whispered. “That she… wanted to… have her flower pollin–”

 _“Okay!”_ David interrupted, slamming his bottle down to cut him off. “You know, you don't have to use the euphemism, it's… just...”

“Oh.” he drew back and looked away. “I'm sorry, I–”

“Just, _sex.”_ David said. “You can say _sex._ She wanted to have sex.”

“Yes.” Rumford exhaled and coughed. “Sex. Sexual… intercourse.”

Now that he said the word, it didn't seem so bad, did it? Sex, sex, sex. Sexy sex. Sexual sexiness. Just a bisexual man talking about his sex life with his sexy girlfriend.

“So… I take it you _didn't_ want to?”

“Well– not exactly.” Rumford shrugged. “I mean, Belle's… stunning. With gorgeous, sexy eyes, and legs that go on for–”

_“Rum–”_

“–and she does this thing where she bites her lip that makes–”

 _“Alright.”_ David chuckled uncomfortably and held up his hand, signaling for him to stop. “Got it, got it. She's uh… she's hot.”

Rumford scoffed. “Now, there's an understatement. Everything _about_ her just–”

David cleared his throat pointedly. “You said you had a question?”

“Right. Yes.” he coughed. Tossing a quick glance over his shoulder, he leaned in closely again. “Is it… normal? These days? To… well, to _make love_ without… having said the words?”

David set his bottle down and leaned back in his seat, letting out a deep sigh.

That couldn't have been a good sign.

He blinked and raised his brows. “I mean, sure.” he shrugged, gesturing limply with his hand. “Plenty of people have sex without being in love first.”

“Because I… I _wanted_ to, but– well, it felt wrong.”

David looked at him with furrowed brows. “Rum, she didn't… pressure you into any–”

“No! Heaven's no!” Rumford said. “I told her I wasn’t ready and we played _Boggle_ instead!”

“Oh,” he relaxed. “Thank God.”

“God! What sort of woman do you think Belle is!?”

“Nothing! Nothing! I'm sure she's wonderful,” David said. “Just– looking out for you, man.”

“Oh. Well…” Rumford swallowed. “Thank you.”

David chugged his beer down to the label and set it down with a sigh. “So let me get this straight– she was ready to, and you were… _interested_. But you decided you'd rather wait?”

“Aye. But–” Rumford tilted his head from side to side in hesitation. “I don't know! It's just that the last woman I– the _only_ _person_ I was ever with was my ex-wife.” he confessed– and _by God,_ did it sound embarrassing when he said it out loud like that.

David gave him a small, sympathetic smile. “And you're not sure if you're ready to share that with another person?”

“Eh… it's not quite that, I don't think.” Rumford dismissed, shaking his head. “It's just... I _like_ Belle! A lot! I'd _like_ to… be intimate with her. It's certainly been long enough for me that I think I'm ready to do that again. But isn't it too soon? For _us?_ Or am I being too old-fashioned?” he asked. “Because I-I always felt… it should be about _love,_ you know? Showing how you feel. And I know I have feelings for Belle. Good, strong feelings. But Milah and I knew each other for almost a _year_ before we– I met Belle little more than a _month_ ago.”

“Alright. Look, Rum.” David said, making a decisive gesture with his hand. “Whether you want to wait or not, or how long you wait, is up to you. Be it after x amount of dates or months, or until however long it takes to say you love each other, until you’re married, or whatever. There's no wrong choice there. But sex doesn't always have to be about… _making love._ It can just be about... having fun and making each other feel good. Or something in-between. The important thing is that you're both on the same page about it.”

Rumford let out a heavy sigh. “Ah suppose.”

“Just… honesty, man. Communication. Talk to her about it.”

 _“Talk to her.”_ Rumford muttered.

It seemed _talking_ was David's solution for everything!

But talking was hard! At least, the kind of talking he was referring to– the kind that involved being vulnerable! It was so much easier to just flirt and make Belle smile and blush and giggle!

Because the more Belle knew about him, the more likely it was that she'd… realize how boring he was, and leave him for somebody more sexy and exciting. Like the roofer.

Rumford tapped a finger on his glass and sighed. “I don't think it's just that though. Th-the sex, I mean.”

David paused, his bottle hovering a inch from his lips. “No?”

“You know… what if it doesn't work out?”

He set his beer down and tilted his head at him.

“Being with Belle.” Rumford said. “I-it's made me realize how much I missed… _having someone,_ you know? But I'm forty-five years old. I'm no’ getting any younger. If I'm gonnae… see somebody, I want to know that they're…”

Interested in getting married and having children?

Growing old and grey together?

Never going to leave me?

“...Looking for something serious?” David offered.

“Aye.”

 _Looking for something serious._ That was good! That sounded _far_ less pathetic!

Rumford cleared his throat. “We were talking on the phone Monday, and she mentioned that she loved kids and it hit me, you know? I know I want to have more kids but what about her? What if she doesn't?”

“I don't understand. You just said she told you she loves kids.”

“Aye, but liking kids and wanting to have your own are very different things. I-it just seems like we ought to talk about those things, doesn't it?”

“Eh…” David hesitated.

“Or is it too soon to talk about that? Because what we have so far is… it's nice. And I don't wannae scare her away by bringing those things up, but…”

“You're worried she just wants something casual and that you're heading towards a dead-end?”

Rumford nodded. “I can't do _casual,_ David. I don't _want_ casual. I don't even know what that means!” he said, looking around the bar helplessly. “It sounds _sad!”_

“Hey, now. Relax.” David said, setting a hand on his arm to ground him.

“I never should have gone on that first date with her,” Rumford sighed. “Then I wouldn't be in this mess with all these feelings, David.”

“No, don't say that.” he said. “The way I see it? If it's not too soon for you to be worrying about those things, it's not too soon for you to talk about them with her. It's a conversation every new relationship needs to have at some point, what the expectations are.”

Rumford looked at him with a pained expression.

_Was it?_

He and Milah had never really had that conversation. They’d studied together, fallen into bed a few times, and next thing he knew she was carrying his child and they were getting married.

How did one have that conversation, anyway? The thought of asking Belle if they were serious or not was nauseating! After all, what if she said _no?_ It wasn't like there was a subtle, approachable way to say, _I think I'm falling in love with you– but before you say anything, you should also know that I want to have more children someday and if you're not down with that, then we should just quit while we're ahead._

“Just be open about it.” David said. “It's uncomfortable and it'll be tempting to be as brief as possible, but take her through your thought process. All of it. From the… sex, to the… you know. Other, big picture stuff.”

“But what if she–”

“Look. I can't promise you how she'll react,” David said. “Maybe she'll decide she's not ready for all that and break things off. Or maybe she feels the same way and she'll be relieved. But if it's something you know you want, avoiding that conversation would just be torturing yourself.”

His mouth flopped open and closed. “I should at least wait though, right? I-I mean–”

“OK. Then wait how long?” David asked. He inched into his space, and Rumford couldn't help shrinking in his seat a little. “A month? Two months? _Three?_ Let it fester for six? ...A year?”

 _Yes!_ Festering for a year sounded perfect!

“Trust me.” David said, giving him a pat on the back. “Best to just nip these things in the bud.”

Rumford grumbled and looked away. Damn David. Always being so… _sensible_ about things.

“So, you'll tell her?”

He looked at his glass and let out a huff of resignation. “I'll… try.”

David shrugged. “You deserve to be happy, man, is all I'm saying. You know what you want– you shouldn't have to hide or apologize for it.”

Rumford rubbed a hand over his mouth.

_Wanting things and not apologizing for the inevitable burden those foolish desires place on the people around you?_

People did that?

But _how?_

It certainly made things seem so much more simple, he had to admit.

_Why did you do that? Why are you telling me this?_

_Because I bloody well wanted to, that's why!_

Rumford scoffed.

_Of course! So simple!_

He smiled and gave David's hand a few pats. “Thank you.” he finally said. “For… listening. To all of that.”

“Sure thing.” David winked. “Any time.”

“Well–” Rumford hopped out of his chair. _“David_ . It's been lovely, we should most _certainly_ do this again... but I think I'd like to take the rest of the evening to reflect privately on the matters discussed.”

“Oh.” David blinked. “O-okay.”

“Have a wonderful evening, and give Emma and Mary Margaret my regards.” he said, straightening his jacket and spinning on his heels toward the door.

“Gold, wait–”

Rumford froze and looked over his shoulder, brows raised expectantly.

David shook his head and laughed. “You gotta pay your bill, man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this update, this story has officially hit the 100k mark! I wanna thank everyone for sticking with this story, because it's become my baby, and it never would have happened if not for all of you guys' support! *blows kisses*


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gender of the day: key lime pie ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to split this chapter because it was getting too long!!
> 
>  **FYI:** a good chunk of this chapter might feel like I'm setting up a Bisexual Love Triangle™. This should (hopefully) be clear by the end of the chapter, but… trust that that's not what I'm doing.
> 
> Anyway, TMI's for last chapter, if you're into that sorta thing: [[x](http://ifishouldvanish.tumblr.com/tagged/tmi%3A+bh15)]

_ “I have to say, I was a little nervous you wouldn't show.” Jefferson admitted. He peered across the dimly lit table, over the rim of his wine glass at Rumford. “But I'm glad you did.” _

_ “Aye, well. I appreciate the invite.” Rumford said. But suddenly the eye contact was too much, too intense, and so he gave a tight-lipped smile and looked down at his menu. Sweet plantains, fried cassava… Bandeja Paisa… _

_ The Ajiaco would do, he decided, and took a sip of his wine. _

_ “You know,” Jefferson began, “when that colleague of mine gave me your card and told me you were second-to-none in book repairs, she... neglected to paint the full picture.” _

_ Something in his voice sounded different, Rumford thought. Deeper, less melodic, less theatrical.  _

_ He furrowed his brows and set his glass down, licking the wine from his lips. “What do you mean?” _

_ Jefferson cleared his throat and sat up straight, fingering at the cravat he wore. _

_ It was hypnotic, in a way, Rumford thought. But above all, it was better than staring into those eyes. _

_ “Oh, just… you know,” he chuckled. “How uh… how much you actually do. Books, furniture, jewelry, art. It's... impressive.” _

_ “Oh. Well, thank you.” Rumford smiled and looked back down at the menu again. Maybe he wouldn't get the Ajiaco after all. Perhaps the Bistec Encebollado. Or the Lengua En Salsa. Or the Ceviche de Pescado. _

_ Oh, who was he kidding? _

_ He was getting the Ajiaco. It had called to him the moment he saw it. A sucker for a good soup, he was. _

_ “And well, if I'm perfectly honest,” Jefferson continued, “I… wasn't expecting a restorations expert with experience in laced case bindings to be so ah… young.” _

_ There was a tight feeling in Rumford's chest, and he swallowed. _

_ “I’m... really not.” he said, and began reading the menu from the top again. Because if the Ajiaco was good, he might come back and want to try something else another time. And was it warm in here? Or was it just him? Fantastic lighting, this place. Comfortable seating. But it was much, much too warm. _

_ “Well,” Jefferson chuckled, “you're younger than the eighty-year-old man I was envisioning.” _

_ Rumford scoffed, and the melodiousness was back in his voice, and he relaxed. “Is that what you think of the antiques business?” he asked. “That we're all a bunch of crotchety old bastards? One foot already in the grave?” _

_ “No, no!” Jefferson threw his head back and laughed, and he had quite the Adam's apple, didn't he? “Just that I was ah… pleasantly surprised.” _

_ Rumford wet his lips. “Well… for what it's worth, you're... nothing like what I was expecting eith–” _

_ “Mr Gold?” _

Rumford startled, the memory ripped out from underneath him where he sat at his desk. Heart pounding in his chest, he cleared his throat and focused his eyes on the appraisal document in front of him with undue focus.

“...Mr Gold?”

He blinked and looked across the back room of the shop, where Ariel was standing by the back door. Coughed. “Y-yes? Miss Halloran?”

“You don't mind if I take my lunch break a little early, do you?” she asked. “I have an errand to run and–”

“Aye.” he nodded, perhaps a little excessively. “Aye, that's fine.”

“I'll finish polishing that silverware when I get back.” she said, tossing a glance over her shoulder at the workbench across the room.

“Ah…” he squinted across the room until he could make out the set of forks and spoons that had been laid out. _ “Yes.” _

Ariel slumped against the door. “You okay, Mr Gold? You seem a little…”

“No, no.” he dismissed with a put-on smile. “I'm just fine. Thank you.”

She eyed him skeptically for a moment. “...Alright. Well, thanks.”

“Mhm.” he dismissed her again, this time with a slight wave of his hand, and she was off– disappearing into the bright beam of late summer sun that had poured in when she opened the door. It slammed shut, plunging the room into relative darkness again, and Rumford slouched into his chair.

_ You're nothing like what I was expecting either? _

Had he really said that?

It– well, it was  _ true! _ But… it sounded so…  _ romantic.  _ Like a perfect lead-in for a perfect first kiss.

How had they not kissed? How had he not realized back then that he  _ wanted _ to kiss Jefferson? That Jefferson would have gladly kissed him back!

They should have kissed that night! The one they spent together at the Colombian place on Fifth!

Well, it was no matter now, Rumford supposed.

He sighed and stared at his phone where it sat on his desk, knowing full well what he needed to do.

He needed to call Belle.

He’d been losing sleep ever since his outing with David, and he knew himself well enough to know that it was because he hadn't had  _ the talk _ with her yet.

But it was hard to call Belle when she'd already called the other day to let him know that she'd finished translating the journals. 

He'd tried to talk to her then. Sort of.

But then she started making plans to visit him, to go over the translations together, and she sounded so excited that he just couldn't bring himself to ruin it by making it all about  _ him _ and  _ his _ problems.

No, no, no. He couldn't burden her with that. Couldn’t burden her with  _ him. _

Instead, he'd just nodded and smiled as she relayed some of her findings to him, chiming in at the appropriate times with  _ oohs _ and  _ ahs _ and  _ isn't that somethings _ . She still hadn't found much to tie her book to  _ Les Reines Des Ténèbres _ though, and the hollow disappointment in her voice as she told him as much just wouldn't do.

Which was how he'd wound up sitting at his desk, thinking about Jefferson.

Jefferson might be able to help.

Jefferson was more experienced in this sort of thing than he was.

Jefferson and his rare books. His first editions, his obscure publishers.

Jefferson was brilliant.

Perhaps he ought to call Jefferson first. It could be like a warm up call before he called Belle.

But oh... he didn't  _ want _ to call Jefferson!

He couldn't think about Jefferson without remembering his smile, or his eyes, or how tactile he was– and it all made his heart beat a little more strongly, made his face feel a little warm.

Which was ridiculous, of course.

He was seeing Belle now, and he’d choose Belle over a thousand Jeffersons!

But he couldn't shake the niggling thought,  _ would Belle choose him? _

Because what if this thing they had was too good to be true? She was so much younger than him, and what if the distance became a problem? What if Belle wasn't looking for the same things he was? What if she had different expectations?

Because in five years, he wanted to be spending his evenings on the couch, cuddled up to someone he cared about, and who cared about him. Someone to come home to. Someone to fall asleep next to every night and wake up beside every morning. To love and be loved in return. To have a love like his aunties shared.

In five years, he wanted to be researching the best preschools for his next child, to be reading bedtime stories and planning birthday parties. To be making pancakes every Sunday morning and arranging the toppings into silly wee faces.

He tried to picture himself doing those things with Belle, but they felt more like silly, indulgent fantasies than possible glimpses of his future. They didn't feel solid and tangible, but like soft, distant clouds.

Rumford shook the thought away and picked his phone back up, finding his old colleague in his contacts.

_ He could picture himself doing all of those things with Jefferson. _

Jefferson was local. Jefferson was closer to his own age. Jefferson was a single father, just as he was. He had some sort of  _ history _ with Jefferson. Had so much in common.

Maybe the only reason he felt so much more drawn to Belle despite all of those things was because she was a woman, and being in a relationship with a woman seemed less scary than being in one with a man. It was familiar, it was to be expected, and maybe no one would need to know that he was also attracted to men after all. 

Sure, Belle filled him with all the giddiness, the silliness, that  _ rococo playfulness. _ But logically– him and Jefferson together made so much sense!

Rumford pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, scolding himself for being so fickle.

Of  _ course _ it was easier to picture himself sharing a life with Jefferson!

He knew the man for five years! His sense of humor! The kind of father he was! His favorite cuisines! His pet peeves! The sort of movies he cried at! How he had sensitive skin and preferred unscented laundry detergent!

He might not know all of those things about Belle yet– but that didn't mean that his feelings for her weren't true!

No, no. His feelings for Belle were real, and he'd learn all of those trivial little things about her in due time! For now though, he would call Jefferson about her book, and it all would be perfectly fine!

Hell– if he were a betting man, he might even wager that when he finally _did_ speak to Jefferson, it would be so profoundly underwhelming that all these… _residual_ _feelings_ would just evaporate into thin air and never bother him again!

_ Dr Jefferson Bellamy? _

_ Who? _

_ Oh, you mean that brilliant literature professor at Cornell whom I have definitely  _ not _ been having intrusive thoughts about passionately kissing for the past two weeks? _

_ What about him? _

Yes, yes… Rumford thought, steepling his fingers over his desk. He'd talk to Jefferson, get all of this  _ whatever it was _ out of his system, realize what a tosser he was, and never have to think about kissing him ever again.

Unless…

Unless things with Belle didn't work out.

Maybe he'd think about kissing Jefferson then.

But only then.

Anyway–  _ Jefferson. _

Dr Jefferson Bellamy.

Good old Jefferson…

Rumford stared back at his phone, with his intentions and nothing else.

He'd call him.

In a minute.

Just, he needed to get in the right frame of mind, was all.

_ Hey, Jefferson. It's Rumford. _

But _ no, no, _ he quickly decided. That was too personal. It needed to be more professional, more formal. More detached.

Because there weren't any attachments there. 

None whatsoever.

_ Hello, Dr Bellamy? This is Dr Gold. Yes, yes, I'm fine, thank you. And how are things with you at the University? Good? That's good-- _

Rumford drew a sharp breath.

_ Was _ Jefferson still at Cornell? Did he still teach afternoon classes? Because if he did and he called now, he'd be in the middle of a lecture and it would go to voicemail! He wouldn't even have to talk to him at all! At least not yet!

_ Yes!, _ Rumford decided! It was now or never!

He held his breath and tapped the call button before he could talk himself out of it. His heart pounded as the line rang, and he had to get up, out of his seat. Walk around. Channel the nervous energy.

The line continued to ring, and he continued to pace.

_ Please don't answer, please don't answer, please, for the love of God don't answer. _

No such luck.

The dial tone stopped, and there was a pause, and an uncertain,  _ “Hello?” _

“...H-hi.” Rumford managed in a whisper.

There was a stretch of silence, and he began idly thumbing through the stack of invoices he had on his desk.

“...Rumford? Is that really you?”

God, it was so strange to hear his voice again. It sounded exactly the same as he remembered, only now it made him feel like he had to go to the bathroom.

He shook his head.  _ Focus. _ “Ah… yes.” he said, more confidently than he felt, and wandered over to Ariel's workbench.

“Oh! What a pleasant surprise!” Jefferson said. “It's been too long!”

“Aye. It ah, sure has.” he said, picking up one of the forks and beginning to study the little rosettes sculpted into its handle.

“Hold on, I just stepped into my office.” Jefferson said, and Rumford could hear the door click shut. “Lucky for you, it was a short lecture today– otherwise you would've missed me!”

Rumford shot the clock on the wall an accusatory glare. “Aye. How about that.”

“How are you? How's Neal?” he asked. “You know, I logged into the book of faces a few months ago and saw he's going to Rhode Island! That's something!”

“Aye. We're good. Very good. Ah… how about you? Grace?”

“Oh… same old, same old for me, I'm afraid. Grace is doing  _ marvelous _ though. Her ah, new band? I can't keep up with the names anymore, but she's going to be going on tour! Opening for some… I don't know– what are the kids even into these days?” he chuckled, “Psychedelic… tin whistle… noise pop?”

“Aye, something like that, I'm sure,” Rumford laughed, before catching it and silencing himself with a cough. “But that's… good for her. You must be proud.”

“Yeah, that's my little girl…”

Rumford set the fork down and stepped further along the workbench to where an old, out of work mantel clock awaited surgery. “Oh, they're not so little anymore, are they?” he lamented, tilting it back to get a better look at it.

“No, no… it's amazing, isn't it? How time flies...” Jefferson said, clicking his tongue. “So. To what do I owe the pleasure of hearing your voice again?”

Rumford rolled his eyes, ignoring the pathetic flutter in his chest.  _ To what did he owe the pleasure of hearing his voice again? _

What a tosser.

He moved on from the clock, over to a box of unsorted inventory, and peered inside. He nudged its contents about, the dirt and dust that covered it all polluting the air he breathed.

“Well, I was... wondering if you might... be able to lend me your opinion on an unusual book I ah… had a client bring in.”

It felt…  _ dirty, _ to refer to Belle as  _ a client. _ But was it really relevant that this ‘client’ was a woman he was dating? Sure, he could have said, “something my girlfriend showed me” but that would have invited all sorts of questions!

_ Oh, you're seeing someone? _

_ What's her name? _

_ Where'd you meet? _

_ Oh, so it's a long distance sort of thing... _

_ How long have you been together? _

_ Getting serious? _

_ Meet her parents? _

_ Marriage? _

_ Kids? _

He didn't know the answer to  _ half _ of those questions!

Because he hadn't talked to Belle yet!

So no, no. It would be best if he just didn't know. This was a strictly professional call, after all. Jefferson was an expert on rare books. He happened to have a rare book by proxy of having a  _ girlfriend _ who had a rare book. That was the end all, be all of it. No reason to let this conversation be any longer or more personal than it needed to be.

Was  _ he _ seeing anybody, though?

Probably.

Probably some… Brazilian swimsuit model.

Rumford could remember the way women would stare at Jefferson and flirt whenever the two of them would have lunch together. The smiling, the giggling. The flipping of hair, the swaying of hips, the batting of eyelashes. How irrationally  _ bothered _ by it he always was.

At the time.

Didn't seem so irrational anymore.

It was all just… the perfectly reasonable jealousy that comes with being a pathetic little goblin man who has to watch the veritable Adonis you're subconsciously infatuated with flirt with people who are younger and more attractive than you.

Well– be flirted  _ with, _ Rumford corrected himself _. _ Jefferson never seemed to reciprocate, come to think of it. He'd say something like, “I'm flattered darling, but as I'm sure you can see, I'm trying to have a conversation with my dear friend Rumford here.”

He clenched his eyes shut.

_ Gods! _ What a waste!

A feeling of regret, which had become so familiar over the past two weeks, soured Rumford's stomach. It was followed by a pang of guilt, of shame, which was equally familiar.

What business did he have sulking about  _ missed opportunities _ when he had Belle?

“...Rumford?”

He coughed. “Hm?”

“Oh. There you are.”

“Aye. I'm… still here.”

“Thought I'd lost you. Well, I could definitely take a look at it if you like.”

“Aye?”

“Certainly! I mean,  _ Dr Gold? _ Coming to little old  _ me _ for help? If you think I'd ever pass up an opportunity like that, you're sorely mistaken!”

Rumford sighed. Was it wrong, that a part of him had hoped that Jefferson would be too busy, too  _ something _ , to help? It would have spared him from having to see him again, yet let him sleep with the knowledge that at least he'd  _ tried _ to get help.

“Ye know, i-it's nothing. I’m sure you're busy with–”

“Oh, don't be ridiculous, Rum!” he laughed, settling down with a sigh and smacking his lips. “I ah… I can always make the time for you.”

Rumford swallowed hard.  _ Bloody hell. _ Why were those words making his chest feel all warm and tingly? The man was old news!

He needed to abort mission.

He could crinkle a candy wrapper over the speaker and claim to have bad reception! Hang up and never call again! Block his number! Pretend he never existed! Eventually, Jefferson might dismiss this entire phone call as some kind of vivid hallucination!

But instead of doing any of that, Rumford just said, “Oh. Why thank you.”

"Well, as I said: I’d be delighted to take a look at it. Are you still in Syracuse? Perhaps you could ah… swing by my place for dinner? Say, Thursday nigh–”

“No.” Rumford blurted.

“Oh. Well, would any other day work–”

“No.” he repeated, because that definitely sounded like a date.

Or perhaps he was just being paranoid.

Two months ago? He wouldn't have known  _ gay _ if it slapped him in the arse. But now? It was everywhere, whispering his name.

“I mean– Well the thing is, is that she's a... fellow  _ enthusiast, _ you know? I-I’m sure she'd be interested in ah… hearing it from the horse’s mouth, as it were.”

_ Yes,  _ Rumford thought. Liken Jefferson to a horse.

Who would want to kiss a  _ horse? _

_ Not him! _

“Oh! Well, extend the invitation!” he said. “We can have ourselves a little soirée!”

Rumford pressed his lips into a thin line. “...Perhaps,” he said, but what he really meant was  _ please, God, no. _

Jefferson let out a thoughtful little hum. “You know, it's a small world–” he said. “Does this client have any connections to the University, by chance?”

“No.”

“My,” he scoffed. “you sound so certain.”

“Why shouldn't I?” Rumford snipped back, and Gods, he was being cagey, wasn't he?

Jefferson cleared his throat. “So this is somebody you know... personally, then?”

_ Trap! _ It was a trap!

He was unable to come up with a satisfactory white lie though. “Belle.” he huffed. “Her name's Belle.”

“Oh!” Jefferson exclaimed gleefully. “And does she ah… live up to her name?”

_ Ha! _ He knew better than to answer that!

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh, come on, Rum! Humor me!” he laughed.

Rumford rolled his eyes. “Yes.” he grumbled. “She does.”

But he couldn't help thinking, that he too, lived up to his name.

Bellamy. _ Beautiful friend. _

“So we're doing a favor for a pretty girl, are we?” Jefferson teased. “…I'll do my best not to steal the limelight, then.”

Rumford bristled.

What if he  _ did _ steal the limelight, though? Jefferson was definitely, quite objectively, much more handsome than he was. Belle might take one look at him, realize what a toad he was by comparison, and then who knew what might happen!? He couldn't bear it if it was  _ Belle _ who was flirting and giggling and batting her eyelashes at Jefferson! After all, where would that leave  _ him?  _ Where did that leave the goblin?

“...Rumford?”

_ Ridiculous, _ he told himself, and swallowed hard. Dr Jefferson Bellamy might be completely gorgeous, but Dr Rumford Gold was Belle's  _ favorite. _

She'd told him as much.

Twice.

“...Right.” he said. “Sh-she'll be in town next weekend. I-I mean the following weekend. In two weeks.”

“I'll mark my calendar,” he said. “In the meantime, call your lady friend.” 

Rumford rolled his eyes.

He  _ was _ going to call her! _ Soon! _

“I'd be thrilled to have you both over for dinner,” Jefferson continued, “but if she'd rather I stopped by the shop, that's fine. It's just that the shop is so…  _ business– _ which you know I prefer to mix with pleasure.”

“...Aye. I'll… give her a call, then. See which she'd prefer.”

“So ah… with that out of the way– what are we talking about, here? What century? What author?”

Yes, yes. The book. That was the reason for this call after all, now wasn't it? Not catching up and teasing each other about pretty librarians.

“See, that's the thing,” Rumford said. “It's… anonymous. But ah, 1882. Paris.”

“Ah, fin de siècle Paris...” Jefferson sighed. “I'm sold already. Just… the social and political timult! The moral decay! The exploration of change and corruption and evolution in the arts!”

“Aye, well… It appears to be a ah... an erotic novel.” Rumford mumbled before he could get too carried away. “I mean, just a novel, with um, erotic  _ parts.”   _ he tacked on, using Belle's description from that first wonderful day that she had changed his life.

Jefferson gasped, a long, drawn-out thing. “Even _better!”_ he said. “Oh, I can't wait! What's the title? Please? May I have the title?”

“Ah…  _ Her Handsome Hero?” _

“Oh my– How perfectly  _ tawdry. _ I love it.”

“Aye, it's… something.”

“I'm sorry– I'm just so excited!” Jefferson said. “And it'll be so nice to see you again.”

Rumford swallowed. “Yes, well, I don't wannae keep you during office hours, so... I'll let you go, then.”

“Oh, alright…” he sighed. “Well, it was... truly,  _ truly _ a pleasure to hear from you, Rumford. Don't be such a stranger, alright?”

“Yeah.” he said, the word coming out as a whisper.

“Good day, Rum.”

“Aye. You too.”

He waited for Jefferson to hang up first, because he didn't want to do it too quickly and come off as rude– but it seemed that Jefferson was doing the same. Rumford could see the timer on his phone screen counting up and up, and the stretching awkwardness was beginning to outweigh his concerns over politeness.

He tapped the little red circle, and the device gave a final beep, ending the call.

Rumford dropped into his seat again with a heavy sigh, as though he'd just run a marathon.

_ So there was that,  _ he thought.

He'd called Jefferson.

All done.

That hadn't been _so_ terrible, had it?

Now, at least, his mind would be clear, and he could focus on what really mattered–  _ talking to Belle.  _

Sweet, kind, beautiful Belle.

Definitely not the sweet domesticity of sitting up in bed beside _him_ at night and watching _him_ grade papers.

Or forgetting about the novel in your lap because the lamp on the bedside table is casting such a warm, golden glow over his face. The way that light might reflect off of a wedding band and how you'd just have to lean over and give your husband a kiss on the shoulder because he looks so handsome when he's concentrating like that.

Rumford pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

Fucking shite. Not  _ again. _

What the bloody hell was wrong with him!?

These…  _ thoughts. _

He supposed it was only natural that after realizing he was bisexual, he'd have a few of them. After all, it was a whole side of himself he hadn't known he had! A whole set of experiences he'd opened himself up to and grown curious about– what it might be like to be in a relationship with a man. To date a man, to kiss a man, to make love to a man.

That night, at the inn. He'd indulged that part of himself well enough, hadn't he? That part that had gone underfed for so many years? Surely, he'd fed it enough silly thoughts of handsome smiles and baritone chuckles, strong jawlines and scruffy faces. Trails of body hair that lead to places that made him blush if he thought about them for too long.

He'd held that part of himself in his arms, given it a kiss, and told it it was just as beautiful as the part that fancied soft breasts, delicate hands, sinuous legs that poked out from swishing skirts, and flowery perfume.

But it just seemed that ever since his conversation with David, these  _ thoughts _ had only gotten worse! 

For every thought he had of talking to Belle about their relationship, he had another about  _ him. _

Going out on a dinner date for their anniversary. Walking down the street holding hands. Helping each other dress for an event, deciding that no– the purple flatters you more than the blue. The two of them kissing each other goodbye before they each left for work in the morning. The– 

Rumford squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. He was being a complete fucking arse.

Giving bisexuals the world over a bad name–  thinking about somebody else when he had a perfectly good thing going with Belle.

There was a word for it, wasn't there?

_ Greedy. _

The word didn't roll off his tongue, no. But slithered down his throat, spread into his lungs, and took root in his heart. Blocked out the sun that shined in there, leaving it full of darkness and cold.

But it wasn't as though he would act on these thoughts!

He didn't want to be having them at all!

Thinking about Jefferson didn't make him feel the same way he did when he thought about Belle. Nor did it feel the same to  _ talk _ to him. Sure, they both made him feel some form of nervousness, but oh… they were rather polar forms of nervousness, weren't they? The nervousness he felt with Belle was thrilling, made him feel alive! The nervousness he felt with Jefferson just made him wish the floor would open up and swallow him whole! 

Rumford peered through the doorway and into the front of the shop, finding Tilly seated at the counter, tapping a pen.

Tilly.

She was a special girl, wasn't she?

She sometimes said or did things she didn't mean. Had her “bad days” as she called him.

Maybe he was just having a bad day.

Or week, or month, or entire lifetime.

But surely, she would understand.

He rose from his chair and peeked his head out from behind the door frame. Cleared his throat. “Tilly?”

She stopped tapping her pen and looked over her shoulder at him. “What's up, Mr Gold?”

“May I… ask your advice on something? …Something personal?”

She raised a brow.

“You have…  _ experience, _ with ah… unwanted thoughts, aye?”

She blinked. “What kind of unwanted thoughts?”

He looked out the front window, at the bakery across the street. “Well, let's say… I ah… like pies.” he said. “A-all different kinds. Yet… I know apple pie is my favorite.”

Tilly grinned and stood up. She brushed past him and into his office, dropping into the chair across from his desk. “I'm listening…”

Gods. Here he was, a forty-five year old man, using a pie metaphor to talk to someone half his age about his love life!

But sod it– he needed to talk to someone about this one way or another, and if elaborate pie metaphors made it easier for him to do so, then so be it.

He closed the door and settled back into his chair, splaying his hands flat over its surface. 

“So I–” Rumford cut himself off, because how did he want to say this? Did he really  _ want _ to say it at all? “I'm sorry. It–”

“You know… It's okay, Mr Gold.” Tilly smiled. “Sometimes it's hard to make the words come out.”

He nodded, because  _ oh, yes! It was hard!  _

He looked down at his feet, at his perfectly shined shoes, and sighed. And sighed and sighed and sighed. 

“I… have an apple pie.” he said at last. “It's… sitting right there on the table, but... I can't stop thinking about key lime pie instead.”

“Sounds like you just need to eat a key lime pie.” she shrugged.

“No. No, no. See– I don't think you're understanding what I'm saying,” Rumford explained, and she tilted her head at him. His hand hovered over his desk, and he tapped on his phone where he'd laid it face down. “...I don't  _ want _ the key lime pie.

Tilly frowned. “But you just said you liked all kinds of pies.”

“I do! But… just not that  _ specific _ key lime pie.” he explained, poking a finger in the air. “Not anymore.”

“So there's an _ apple _ pie,  _ and _ a key lime pie on the table?” Tilly asked. “Why can't you just eat both pies?”

“No, I don't– see– that pie’s… I  _ could _ have eaten that pie. A long time ago. But now it's been sitting out for too long. It's no good.” 

“Oh. Well, there's your first mistake!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Sleeping on a perfectly good pie!”

“Aye, exactly.” he smiled, feeling quite clever for his wonderfully apt baked goods metaphor. “See, I had my chance to eat the key lime pie, but... that was before I realized I even  _ liked _ key lime pies.”

"Oh…” Tilly gasped, the corners of her mouth tugging into an amused grin. “We're not talking about _pies_ at all, are we, Mr Gold?” she winked.

Rumford swallowed, hoping his silence would be a sufficient response.

She folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in her seat. “It sounds to me like you just need to eat the apple pie, then.” 

“Aye? But–” he cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “But what about all the… thoughts? About the key lime?”

Tilly pouted her lips. “I always used to get sandwiches with apricot marmalade.”

Rumford furrowed his brows.

“And when I finally tried  _ orange _ marmalade I was like, ‘Whoa! To think, I could have been getting orange marmalade this  _ whole _ time!’” 

He tilted his head. “...And?”

“Oh, well, that's it, really.” Tilly shrugged. “I'm just saying that I understand what it's like to realize you like key lime pies instead of apple pies, Mr Gold. Or, you know,” she leaned in and lowered her voice. “in  _ addition _ to apple pies.

"You… you do?”

“Yeah! Of course, in my case it was apple pies instead of key lime pies. But I'm an apple pie myself, you know?”

“Aye. I just… I had no idea.”

She snorted. “Well, what kind of pie did you  _ think _ I was!?”

“That's– not what I meant.’

“Ayway, let me ask you this:” she said, leaning in more closely. “If you know the apple pie on the table is the pie you want– then why haven't you just eaten it yet?”

“Because… I'm afraid. That the apple pie… might give me food poisoning.”

Tilly's eyes went wide then, her pupils darting around the room evasively. “Isn't that… what...  _ napkins _ are for?”

_ “...What?” _ Rumford scowled. “No! _ ...No! _ Not…  _ that _ kind of food poisoning! Gods,  _ of course _ I'd use a napkin! I'm talking about–” he cut himself off and hesitated before tapping a finger to his heart.  _ “The other kind of food poisoning.” _

“Oh.” she relaxed. “Sorry. But still. Why would you think that?”

“Because the last time I had apple pie–”

“You could get food poisoning from any kind of pie, Mr Gold.”

He floundered, his mouth flopping open and closed a few times before he gave up and slouched into his chair with a resigned huff. “That's… true.”

“So maybe it's not a question of apple versus key lime at all, or one pie being better than the other. Maybe it's just a matter of learning to enjoy pie again.”

“I–” he stopped himself and sighed. “I'm afraid I don't follow.”

She sighed, as if losing her patience with him, and leaned back in her chair, kicking her boots up on his desk.

_ Terribly unhygienic, _ Rumford thought. But he'd concern himself with that later.

“One time I got food poisoning from some old macaroni salad.” Tilly said. “Went eighteen months without eating macaroni salad, I did. But then I decided that I didn't want to live a life without macaroni salad, so I just ate it one day, and it was the best macaroni salad I ever had.”

He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Hm.”

“So  _ I _ think… you need to stop worrying about getting food poisoning and just eat the pie that's in front of you.”

Rumford tapped a finger on his desk for a moment. “I think you may be onto something, Tilly.” he said, pointing that same finger at her.

“Yeah?”

“I'm so worried that the pie will give me food poisoning… yet the longer it sits on the table–”

“The closer it gets to being spoiled.”

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his lap. “So I should just… take a leap of faith and eat the pie.”

“I bet that if you ate that apple pie, you'd totally forget about the key lime.” she said.

“Yes. Yes, I've been looking at this all wrong...” Rumford said. “Here I was afraid I'd need to… to taste the key lime first. Or throw it in the bin to get rid of the temptation. But that's not it at all, is it? I've just… been convincing myself that I might have to  _ settle _ for the key lime because the apple might make me sick.”

“Not that there's anything  _ wrong _ with the key lime pie.” she clarified.

“No, no.” Rumford shook his head. “It's... a very nice key lime pie, actually.” he admitted. “Perhaps I misspoke when I implied it was no good. In fact, if the apple pie wasn't there, I think I might still be interested in eating it.”

“And that's okay. Sometimes when I go to the sandwich shop, they're out of orange marmalade, so I order raspberry instead, and it's just as delicious, really.”

“This particular apple pie, Tilly. It happens to be… the most amazing pie I've ever met.”

Tilly reached out and pat his hand. “You deserve to have the best pie in the world, Mr Gold.”

Rumford sighed.

There was that word again.

_ Deserve. _

David had used it too.

Did he? Did he  _ deserve _ things? Things like happiness?

Belle certainly did.

His son? Most definitely.

David and his family? Sure.

But  _ him? _

When he thought about it like that, he liked to think that he did. But he just couldn't  _ feel _ it.

Rumford swallowed hard. “What if I  _ do _ get food poisoning?”

“I'm willing to bet, that even if you hated apple pie, and instead there was just that one really nice key lime pie in front of you... you'd still be having thoughts about all the other key lime pies you could have eaten in the past. Or maybe you'd swear off pies altogether. Either way, you'd still convince yourself that the one really nice pie right in front of you was going to give you food poisoning.”

It all dawned on him then, and he clasped a hand over his mouth. _ “...God.” _ he whispered. “I  _ would, _ wouldn't I?”

That's  _ precisely _ what his bloody problem was. 

How could he not see it before?

The longer he put off talking to Belle, the more anxious he got– certainly. But he wasn't anxious over a mere phone call, over a single conversation. No, no. The longer he put off talking to Belle, the more insecure he was becoming about their whole relationship. The more insecure he became about their relationship, the more fixated he was becoming on some other relationship that didn't even exist– because the fact that it didn't exist anywhere except inside his head made it feel safe. Safer than the very real thing he had with Belle. Easier to idealize. Because real things were easily broken, while his ridiculous fantasies about Dr Beautiful were not.

The demon girl at Belle's library was right.

These thoughts weren't a bisexual thing, weren't a confused thing, weren't a greedy thing– just a him being a stupid, anxious bastard who's terrified of someone leaving him again thing.

Tilly gave him a sympathetic smile and nodded. “Eat the apple pie, Mr Gold.”

“Eat the apple pie.” he repeated, back to himself, like a mantra.

She reached into her pocket and hesitated a moment. She grinned at him strangely, as if she held a gift she couldn't wait to give him– which was laughable, really.

Rumford furrowed his brows.

“Here–” she said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She tapped and swiped a few times, then held the screen up to him– showing him a photo of a bespectacled young woman with strawberry blonde hair. “That's my Nobin.” Tilly informed him proudly. “Best apple pie in the whole world if you ask me.”

“Oh.” Rumford smiled. “N-nobin, you said?”

“Well. Her name's Robin.” Tilly laughed. “But I call her Nobin. It's a long story. We have lots of those.”

“And the two of you–”

“We like to go to the bookstore together. And the sandwich shop. And the sweets shop. And the pizza place. ...She likes food.”

“Huh.”

“My favorite thing about her though, is her patience. With me, I mean. She can always take a bad day and make it a good one.”

Rumford brushed a finger over the corner of his eye, because he wasn't starting to tear up or anything. Absolutely not.

“What about you, Mr Gold?” she asked.

“Ah…” he reached for his phone, heart racing because he hadn't told anyone outside of Neal and David about his Belle yet. It finally occurred to him why, though. That same fear, that same insecurity. That compulsion to keep his things to himself, because they felt more safe that way. But they'd been safe with David, and safe with Neal. Maybe they'd be safe with Tilly, too.

After all, she'd already made it clear that that  _ other _ thing of his– the one he hadn't quite entrusted with David or Neal yet– would be safe with her. So why not this? Why not his Belle?

And so now he did his own tapping and swiping, pulling up the photo from the docks, of the two of them. Hand trembling, he held it out to her.

A slow smile spread across Tilly's face and she looked up at him.

“Belle.” he whispered, and it was his turn to smile proudly now. “H-her name's Belle.”

“Looks like a very nice apple pie you've got there, Mr Gold.” she said.

“She–” he swallowed, and he nodded, but he couldn't find the words, because  _Belle!_ “My… my favorite thing…” he trailed off and chuckled, because  _ everything _ about Belle was his favorite! “She's… she's very nice. It– she makes me feel…”

_ “...Mhm.” _ Tilly grinned knowingly, sparing him from having to settle on a word that would never do that feeling justice. “I know  _ just _ what you mean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Belle spends some quality time with her father, and Rumford finally calls Belle to have "the talk".


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* commuuuunicaaaaationnnn...
> 
> Also: A new challenger approaches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TMI's - [[boop](http://ifishouldvanish.tumblr.com/tagged/tmi:%20bh16)]
> 
> It's kinda been a while soooo, last chapter Rumford called Jefferson and had a conversation with Tilly about 'pies'.

When her father called last Monday, Belle hadn't been sure what to expect– but an invitation to the nail salon definitely wasn't it. 

He'd been shy about it, as though the whole thing hadn't been his idea– and Belle had to ask him to repeat himself just to make sure she'd heard him right.

But  _ oh, _ she’d heard him right.

Father-daughter deluxe manis and pedis.

Now it was Friday afternoon, and the two of them were seated in adjacent massage chairs while two technicians began the laborious process of exfoliating and rubbing their sore, tired feet. Belle had brought a book to read while they waited, but watching her father contentedly thumb though back issues of  _ Elle _ and  _ Women's World _ was proving to be just as entertaining, if not moreso.

Belle’s eyes wandered to the bottle of azure blue polish she’d chosen for her toes, perched on the technician’s tray among their various other tools and bottles.

She always liked something bright and cheery on her feet, and she wondered if Rumford would like it, too.

She'd have to wear sandals when she visited him.

Will and Greg never noticed her toes, but neither of them had ever noticed her shoes, either.

Rumford had noticed her shoes, though. That first night in Boston. Gone so far as to suggest she wear flats the next day so she wouldn’t ruin the suede.

So maybe he'd notice her toes, too.

Maybe he liked  _ feet. _

_ Hm. _

It wasn't something she'd ever given much thought to, but she supposed that if Rumford ever wanted to…  _ lick her toes, _ she wouldn't mind. Come to think of it, she might even enjoy it.

Belle nibbled her lip and shifted in her seat a little, a small voice in the back of her mind wondering if maybe mind-reading was actually real. An ancient secret guarded by a clandestine organization– one or more members of which who happened to be in this very nail salon at this very moment.

Or maybe she’d just been spending too much time with Anna.

But oh, yes. She'd thoroughly enjoyed watching Rumford close his lips around those cookies; what  _ wouldn't _ there be to like about watching him close his lips around her  _ toes _ with as much relish? Or any other part of her– 

“So,” Moe said, tossing the magazines aside. They landed on the table between them with a _ smack _ that pulled Belle out of her thoughts. “Tell me about this Rumford fellow.”

Belle rolled her head to the side in exasperation and groaned. “Is  _ that _ what all this is about, papa? You finding a new way to keep meddling into my life?”

He glowered for an instant, ready to argue. But then he looked away instead, across the salon at the wall that read  _ You Look Fabulous!  _ in large, shimmering pink cursive.

“No.” he sighed. “I just… I realized that... well, I can be a little stubborn.” he said. He wet his lips and hesitated. Took another deep breath. “The last thing I want to do is push you away. You're my little princess, and–”

Belle felt a little guilty when her eyes rolled. “Papa, I  _ told _ you I hate–”

“I know, I know...” he grumbled. “I'm sorry. You've grown into such a smart, beautiful young woman and I couldn't be more proud of you, Belle. But you have to understand that… well, you'll always be my little girl. No matter what.”

He reached out and took her hand, and she returned a tight-lipped smile.

As much as she didn’t care for being called anybody's little anything, she supposed she couldn’t fault her father for making an effort to work on their relationship. After all, what was it that Rumford had told her about being a parent? About having to make up for lost time? Holding on too tight and being afraid to let go?

_ “But–” _ her father continued, giving her hand a little pat, “you're right in that I shouldn't still be treating you like one.”

Belle looked back up at him skeptically. “O-okay…”

He was quiet for a long moment, and looked up at the ceiling. “You… you seemed very excited about this man when you got back from Boston.” he said, wringing his hands in his lap. “And… if you'd like… I think I'm ready to have a mature, respectful conversation about him with you. Or, you know.  _ Anything.”  _ he chuckled uncomfortably. “Whatever you want to talk about.”

Belle bit down on her lip. It wasn't the first time he'd said something like this. Told her he was ready to listen and be civil, only to get worked up the moment she said something he didn't like, then argue when she dared to point it out to him. Some of their very worst arguments had been prefaced with promises of peace, come to think of it.

But there was something different in his eyes this time, in his posture. Something humble, rather than haughty.  Something that told her he wanted to listen to understand, rather than refute.

“...You are?” she asked.

“As much as I’ll ever be.” he admitted. “So, yes.”

“Okay…” She closed her book and set it aside. “Well, um… he's really sweet.” she started with, because it was the first thing to come to mind, and she knew that if given any thought, she wouldn't know where else to begin.

There was just so much to love about Rumford!

“Is he?” her father asked.

Belle nodded. “He’s a real gentleman. And I don’t just mean that in the sense that he knows how to say or do the right thing…” she smiled, thinking how bumbling and nervous Rumford was much of the time. “...but in his heart.” she said. “I can tell he’s a good man.”

Moe started to smile, started to laugh, and Belle glared at him. She hadn’t come out here to be  _ laughed  _ at!

“What's so funny?!” she demanded.

“I'm–” he sputtered and shook his head. “I'm sorry, it–” he giggled, “it tickles!”

Belle snapped her eyes downwards. His toes wiggled and curled and his laughter went on, all while the woman massaging his feet did her best not to look agitated before finally giving up and setting his foot back down.

Her father took a moment to gather his bearings and cleared his throat, the red in his cheeks fading and his smile falling.

“So,” he finally said, “He… he's good to you?”

She took a deep, calming breath and nodded. “Mhm.” 

“And the two of you are… serious?”

Belle frowned and looked down at her lap.

_ Were _ she and Rumford serious?

She'd  _ like _ for them to be serious.

She'd like for them to be  _ very _ serious!

For them to keep a change of clothes at each other's places, to introduce each other to their families, to cook each other meals often, to spend lazy mornings in bed together, to cuddle in the dark and have conversations with each other about the sort of things they couldn't talk to anyone else about.

“I don't know yet.” she said, her voice small. “But... I think that's where things are headed. At least, I hope so.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and smoothed her hands over her lap, struck by a sudden pang of self-consciousness.

He was staring at her with an odd look and wasn't saying anything.

“I really, really like him though, papa.” she admitted. It was only to break the silence more than anything else, and but couldn't hold back her smile at how good it felt to say the words out loud.

A strange smile comes across her father's face then. Of understanding, maybe? And were his eyes getting a little misty? Was that a sniffle she’d heard?

He coughed and looked away though, rubbing a finger under his nose. “He’s uh… older.” he pointed out, and the moment was gone.

Belle sighed and looked down at her feet again. Why was it, that her father's idea of parenting consisted of trying to poke holes in her happiness, and not much else?

_ He's older?  _ she thought bitterly.

Of  _ course _ he was older!

What was wrong with that!?

Older men were… well, they were more put-together! More mature and distinguished! Wiser and more experienced! Cultured! Had better taste in cologne!

_ Older,  _ Belle thought with a scoff.

As if that was a bad thing!

Sure, older men were perhaps more likely to be misogynist or racist, queerphobic or capitalist– but there were still some good apples in the bunch, and Rumford was one of them! She was sure of it!

“I’m not trying to judge.” Moe shrugged. “If he uh…  _ does it _ for you, that's fine! Great, even! You know, if you're gonna date a bloke, he  _ ought _ to!”

“Papa!” she blurted, and she could feel her ears grow terribly hot.

“What!?” he asked.

_ The nerve of him. _ To suggest that she was attracted to Rumford for anything other than his mind, his heart, and his spirit!

That he had dreamy eyes, silken hair, a sunshine smile, and a perfect little tush to boot was just an added bonus!

“Princess– Belle–” Moe hesitated, “Like I said: You're a grown woman. I need to accept the fact that you uh… have  _ needs. _ And…  _ preferences. _ And…  _ things.” _

Belle could feel the color drain from her face.

Needs? Preferences? _ Things?! _

She buried her face in her hands and shook her head. If having a better relationship with her father meant talking about her love life with him, then on second thought, maybe she didn't want a better relationship with him at all.

Talking to Ruby about her sex life? Perfectly normal! They discussed orgasms over breakfast! Her mother? They never really got the chance, but Belle imagined it might have been fun! To giggle over cute boys and hear stories about her mother's first crushes and kisses!

But her  _ father? _

Gross! Terrible! Mortifying! Horrific!

_ “That's beside the point, though.”  _ Moe coughed and shifted in his spa chair, sending the water at his feet Iapping over the edge of the basin, much to the technician's annoyance. “What I'm getting at, princess, is that sometimes an age difference also comes with… well, a  _ lifestyle _ difference, that might not be compatible over the uh, long-term, you know? Being at different stages in life, wanting different things.”

Belle could recognize his erudite tone, and slouched.

So that's where this was going.

Another lecture about how naive she was.

Still somehow much better than a conversation with him about her needs and preferences and things, though.

Belle crossed her arms over her chest. “There were more  _ lifestyle _ differences between me and Greg then there are between Rumford and I.” she muttered.

Moe pouted his lips thoughtfully. “...I suppose you have a point.” he shrugged. “But I mean, well, for instance, he told me he had a son.”

She let out a little huff and lifted her chin. “Yeah. He just graduated from high school.”

“And that… doesn't bother you?”

_ “No. _ Why would it?” she answered petulantly and squared her shoulders, so he would know just how laughable she found the notion.

Did her father really think that Rumford would keep his son a secret from her? That she would find the fact the he had a son whom he adored any less than completely charming?

“Well, let’s say you two  _ do _ get serious, and you decide you want kids.” he continued. “Maybe he doesn't. He might feel like… he’s done with that part of his life. That he just wants someone to live out his retire–”

Belle sat up in her chair.

“Wait, wait, wait–” she cut him off, holding a hand up to his face. “What do you mean, he _told_ _you_ he had a son?” she asked. “What else did he _tell_ you? When did the two of you _talk?”_

Moe froze and shrunk back, realizing his folly.

“Papa, I swear to God, if you cornered and  _ interrogated  _ my boyfriend–”

"Now, now, hold on!” he shouted. “Not so fast! I didn’t corner or interrogate anyone! It was when he came into the shop to pick up your flowers! Just... some friendly chit-chat!”

_ “Friendly chit-chat?” _ Belle challenged, eyeing him skeptically.

“Yes.  _ Friendly chit-chat. _ Enough for me to see that… well,” Moe smiled, “he’s an alright bloke.”

Belle slumped in her chair again, rubbing a hand over her forehead. Part of her felt relieved to hear those words– but  _ only _ part.

“...What?” he asked. “Now what’s wrong?”

Belle let out a deep sigh. “This is just so typical of you.” she said, shaking her head.

His mouth flopped open and his cheeks grew red and ruddy. “What the hell is  _ that  _ supposed to mean!?”

“It means I  _ told _ you he was a good man. I  _ told _ you he was a gentleman. That he was good, and honest, and sweet,” she said, counting Rumford’s virtues on her fingers. “But you just couldn't take my word for it, could you?”

“I…” he stammered.

“But of course,  _ after _ the fact, now that you've…  _ screened _ him for me– everything's just dandy.” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, what's wrong with that!?” he snipped, raising his voice and throwing his hands up in the air.

“Why can't you just  _ trust _ me, Papa? Why can't you  _ listen _ to me, and take my  _ word  _ for it when I say–”

“Oh,  _ I _ see! Everything your old man does is wrong, isn't it?!”

Belle bit her tongue and huffed. “...That's  _ not  _ what I said.” she muttered. “I just wish that when I told you,  _ ‘Papa, I met a really great guy,’ _ that your first instinct was to be  _ happy _ for me, instead of just warning me about how wrong I must be. That for once, I could be  _ right _ until proven otherwise. That  _ your _ opinion wasn't the only one that mattered to you.”

He opened his mouth to speak again, to argue, but hung his head instead.

Belle sighed and looked around the salon, finding half of the other guests gawking at them. She bulged her eyes at no one in particular, and they all promptly returned to the tabloids spread across their laps.

She opened her book again and tried to pick up where she left off, but all she could do was stare a hole into the page.

_ Take a deep breath, _ she told herself.  _ Think pleasant thoughts. _

Like how Dorothy was coming into town tonight and how the three of them were going to go out for dinner and have a movie night when they got back home.

Yes. That was going to be fun.

For all the times Ruby had driven out to Portland to see Dorothy, this was the first time Dorothy was making the trip to Storybrooke. It would be interesting to see how things were coming along between the two of them firsthand– wouldn’t it?

_ Yes, _ Belle thought. 

Friends, movie night, freshly painted toes…

And a dog!

Yes!

That was what had been keeping Dorothy from visiting, was her dog! What to do with Marlene! All that fussing over finding a pet-sitter when the solution was so simple! Just bring the dog!

And _ oh, _ Belle remembered! She’d gotten a perfect grade on the last assignment she turned in for her Research Methods class! That was good!

And! One of the  _ real _ librarians at work told her that the new logging procedure she’d proposed at the last staff meeting sounded like a great idea! That it sounded really efficient!

Yes. Librarianship was in her  _ bones. _ Belle was feeling more certain of that now than ever before! In a few more months, she would be ready to shed that pesky  _ assistant _ designation and spread her full-grown Librarian wings!

What else, what else...

Rumford? Rumford's mouth? Kissing Rumford? 

Doing  _ other _ things with Rumford?

Belle sank her teeth into her bottom lip.

They'd gotten quite close that night.

But he wasn't ready, she wasn't ready.

But, one day.

One day they'd both be ready.

And just what kind of lover would he be, her Rumford? How would he look without his jacket, his tie, his silk shirt, his trousers, his argyle socks? Would the sweet blush he so often wore on his cheeks spread down to his neck, to his chest?

Belle had allowed herself a moment to acknowledge the bit of disappointment she felt– that curiosity that had gone unsated– after Rumford had left. But in retrospect, she supposed it was for the best. She’d been too terribly anxious, and so had he– and being anxious wouldn’t have made for the magical union she liked to imagine their first time would be. She’d let go of the ideas of candles and jazz she’d been envisioning last month of course– as they spoke of a contrived sort of passion. But her imagination wouldn’t cease its tinkering with all the other variables.

Where he might kiss her, the way he might touch her. The sort of things he might whisper into her ear, the kind of things  _ she _ might whisper in his ear. How it might feel to have the weight of him atop her, the size and shape of him between her legs. Whether or not he liked her toes and would be interested in kissing or licking or sucking them.

Oh, yes. Those were all pleasant thoughts, indeed. What had she even been upset about in the first place?

“How you girls  _ read _ these bloody things?”

Belle clenched her eyes shut. She exhaled slowly, bidding goodbye to the blushing, beautifully naked Rumford in her head– apologized for the interruption in their lovemaking– and let him shrink away, back to the corners of her subconscious whence he came.

She supposed she could humor her father and accept the shriveled olive branch he was offering. If nothing else, it would at least lift the tension between the two of them, and by proxy the tension between them and the pair of nail technicians at their feet.

“What do you mean?” she asked with all the enthusiasm she could muster– but she'd about run out of it somewhere between  _ dog! _ and  _ having her toes licked. _

“Every page!” he said. “How To Lose Ten Pounds In Two Weeks! How To Flatten Your Tummy! How To Tighten Your Bottom! Guilt-free Desserts You Can Make at Home! Ten Holy Grail Concealers That Will Cover Your Unsightly Dark Spots!”

Belle shrugged.

“This diet plan? Right here?” he held the offending magazine spread open to her, “They want you to eat  _ half  _ an apple!  _ Half! _ Just– it's a bloody apple, people! Eat the damned thing or don't!”

Belle giggled and turned back to her book so he couldn’t see her smiling. If there was one thing Papa was always good at, it was making her laugh when she was in a sour mood. She just wished he could stop being the one to  _ cause  _ her sour moods.

“I've been reading one of these rags for fifteen minutes and I already feel like I ought to put a bag over my head!” he muttered. “God, you girls don't honestly buy into this rubbish,  _ do you!?” _

“No,” she said, but her smile quickly fell. “I mean, well… not most of the time.”

“Well– it's a buncha bull.” he said, tossing the magazine aside. “I don't even know what a dark spot is! And they're telling you to spend forty dollars on half an ounce of this shit in a fancy tube because if you don't you're old and ugly?”

Belle idly flipped through the pages of her novel a she chose her next words. “Maybe the reason you don't know what a dark spot is, is because we're all so good at hiding them with the forty-dollar shit in a fancy tube.” she teased.

“Nonsense! I saw your mother without a _drop_ of that junk on her face _every_ morning and _every_ night for nineteen years, and let me tell you– there wasn't a _single_ _thing_ wrong with her face!” he said. “. _..Or_ her tummy! _Or_ her arse!”

Belle chuckled and shook her head.

“God! I remember she used to squeeze herself into those… bizarre underpants that looked like they were fit for a bloody  _ toddler _ because she didn't like how her  _ rolls  _ looked!” Moe ranted.  _ “‘They make me look slim and sexier!’ _ she would say, and I'd tell her, ‘honey, those are the  _ last _ thing a man wants to see when a woman takes her dress off!’”

Belle continued to shake her head. Shut her book again.

“Did it ever occur to you, that she wasn't wearing them for  _ you?” _ she asked.

_ “Excuse me?”  _ Moe blinked. “She better not have been wearing them for anybody else!” he said. “I mean, who then? The  _ mailman?!” _

Belle rolled her eyes. “No!” she laughed. “God, you  _ men!  _ Always thinking  _ everything's _ about you!”

Her father reeled back and stammered.

_ “...Mhm.” _ a voice several chairs down chimed in.  _ “Preach it, honey.” _

He huffed again and rolled his eyes. “Well, why the hell else would anyone put those ridiculous things on?!”

Belle shot a pointed glance at the magazine he'd been reading. “You said it yourself. Fifteen minutes and you want to put a bag over your head. Imagine a lifetime.”

Moe looked down at the magazine again and frowned. “I'm just saying.” he shrugged. “Why the need to– she already had _ me, _ you know? I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Told her as much every day.”

Belle slid her hand over his. “I know you did, Papa. I remember.”

They fell silent after that. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead while nail files scritched and scratched.

“I'm sorry.” Moe finally said, looking down at his lap in shame. “I'm so sorry, Belle.”

“For what, papa?”

Moe sighed and let her hand slip from his. “You know, your mother was so excited when she found out she was going to have a baby girl. But I was… scared.”

Belle narrowed her eyes at him.

“My whole life, I'd hear men say things about women– terrible, disrespectful things– over and over. My father, my friends, my coworkers, boss. And I… well I knew it was rubbish. But I'd never say so. I'd just nod and smile and mind my own business. But when we found out we were gonna have a little girl, it hit me like a ton of bricks, you know? Suddenly it  _ was _ my business.”

“Well, us girls are made of stronger stuff than you think,” she said, giving him a rueful smile.

“Oh, I don't doubt that,” he said. He pressed his lips together for a long moment, still staring down at his lap. “My mistake with you, Belle– the way I let you down the most– was that I decided it would be easier to clip your wings than it would be to  _ try _ to change people's minds. Instead calling out that behavior, I let myself be scared into being complicit in it. Told  _ you _ to be careful instead of telling the _ world _ to get its act together.”

“...Oh.” Belle whispered, too stunned to say anything else.

“You shouldn’t be here, in Storybrooke, Belle.” he said. “You should be in some Ivy League school, o-or abroad, or–”

“You didn’t make me stay, Papa.” Belle said. “I wanted to. I had to.”

“Yeah. Because of me. Because I’m an old bastard who can’t take care of himself.”

“No,” she shook her head. “Because I love you. You’re my papa.”

That earned her a weak smile from him.

“Listen: I know I… well,  _ I’m an arse sometimes.”  _ he said. “A lot of the time. But it’s not that I don’t trust you, Belle. It's just– well, I worry so much that you’re not happy. And that’s all I want. Is for you to be happy and safe.”

“I know, papa.” she nodded.

“I mean, you can’t blame me for being… skeptical, about you having your heart set on some man from the TV, right?”

Belle huffed a little laugh. “You say that like he’s some kind of moviestar!”

“Well, he certainly came into the shop  _ dressed  _ like one!” Moe said. “Up to the nines, in that… that pin-striped suit!”

“I know!” Belle giggled. “He looked so  _ handsome.” _

He scoffed and shook his head. “Well… as long as he treats my little girl right, and as long as you’re happy, then… I’m happy. I’m… going to  _ choose _ to be happy for you.”

“Well–” she pressed her lips together, holding back another smile. “He does. And I am,” she said. “Happy.”

“Good.” he said, and relaxed in his chair for the first time since they'd come in.

“Papa,” Belle said, “can I ask you a question?”

He made himself comfortable and laced his fingers over his tummy. “Of course, princess. Anything.”

“Why the nail salon?” she asked. “I mean, not that I mind, but–”

He smiled and have her a sidelong look. “Well, if you must know… your uh,  _ Rumford, _ recommended the lavender scrub.”

She bit down on her lip to stop from grinning too widely, to stop from laughing. After everything, the last thing she wanted to do was embarrass him.

“Maybe it's too soon for me to ask,” he said, “but… do you think you uh... love him?”

Belle felt her cheeks grow hot and turned away. “Oh, I don't know if I'd use  _ that _ word yet,” she mumbled. “But…” she reached out and took his hand. “I really  _ do _ like him, Papa. He makes me feel… really special.”

“Well, he better.” he scoffed. “Because you are.”

“I can um, really  _ see _ myself with him, you know?”

He nodded. “That's good.”

“And well... he definitely um,  _ does it _ for me.” she said, lifting her chin. “So... there's that.”

The corners of his lips pinched at that. “That's… good for you.”

“You know–” Belle turned to face him better, “I’m actually gonna drive to New York to visit him in two weeks.”

“Oh.” he said politely. “You uh, book a hotel yet?”

She shook her head. “He’s got a big place, guest rooms... I'm gonna stay with him.”

Moe muttered something under his breath.

“Papa…” Belle warned.

He inhaled deeply and sighed. But she could see it on his face– the smile he put on as he made his choice and decided to be happy for her. “I… hope you drive safely and that the two of you have a lovely time together.” he said.

Belle smiled, and her eyes stung with a little something she had to wipe away. “Thank you, Papa.” she sniffled. “I will.”

  
  
  


*****

  
  


It had been a long day for Rumford.

Fretting over the conversation he needed to have with Belle all week was taking its toll, reaching out to Jefferson had been nerve-wracking, and as helpful as it had been to talk to Tilly about his… pie dilemma, it had also been so terribly hard, so emotionally draining, to open up and be vulnerable about something so personal.

As it turned out, this communication thing was hard work.

He'd come home and prepared supper for himself and Neal, and as they ate in relative silence, he couldn't help thinking about the conversation he ought to have with his son, too. He'd sat at the table and watched him eat, all the while drafting an entire speech in his head– he just couldn't decide on an opening.

_ “You remember that night, over the phone, when said I needed a girlfriend  _ or _ a boyfriend? You see, it’s a funny story–” _

_ Well, it wasn't really a  _ funny  _ story, now was it? _

_ “I talked to Jefferson today–” no. _

_ “I think I'm bi–” _

_ No. Didn't think. Knew. _

_ “I am bisexual.” _

_ No. Too sudden, that. No finesse. _

_ “You know, I realized something a few weeks ago…” _

But before Rumford could settle on anything, Neal had already excused himself from the table, rinsed his plate off, and begun putting his shoes back on. Rushed off to his friend's to do whatever it is college-aged boys do.

Sip scotch and have heated debates about the implications of the Flemish masters using camera obscura to achieve the photorealism they're so known for, perhaps. Or maybe just gulp down energy drinks and play the Nintendo until two in the morning.

In any case, his window had closed, so Rumford had quietly cleaned up and carried his jacket upstairs to put away.

As he stepped into his bedroom, he caught his reflection in the mirror– with his sleepy eyes and loose tie. His shirt, which had been so crisp and perfectly tucked in the morning, was wrinkled and bunched at his hips– and his jacket, so perfectly fitted, was slumped over his arm in exhaustion without his chest to fill it out.

His clothes looked as tired and harried from the day's events as he did, and Rumford longed for a hot shower and the comfort of his pajamas and bed.

He reached for the knot of his tie, but stopped himself.

There was still one more thing.

A certain phone call.

With Belle.

Queasiness filled his heart again at the thought, and he let his hand drop to his side.

Sure, he could leave it for another day. Tomorrow, sometime next week. Just not right now, you see, it’s been a long day– But  _ no, no, _ he decided.

He’d keep his suit on a while longer.

He had one last thing to ask of it.

Rumford tucked his shirt back in– nice and smooth, no bumps. Adjusted the knot of his tie, made it a little tighter, a little more snug like it had been in the morning. Shook out his jacket and pulled it back over its rightful place on his shoulders. Gave the lapels a little tug.

_ There,  _ he thought.

That was much better.

Taking a deep breath, he slipped his phone out of his pocket and dialed Belle before he could change his mind.

The line rang once, twice, and she answered.

“Rumford! Hi!”

Oh, how his chest felt hot and cold at the same time! His nerves, and yet– her voice! So lovely!

She sounded so chipper, as she always did, and it still wasn't too late to talk about something else entirely, was it? To pretend the reason for his call was something perfectly innocuous?

“H-hey.” he swallowed, already beginning to pace around the room. “Belle.” 

“What um, what's up?”

“Oh, nothing.” he lied– but that was just fine, because the answer to that question was always  _ nothing,  _ whether it was the truth it not. “I just ah…”

_ Wanted to hear your voice before bed! _

_ Wanted to hear how your day was! _

_ Wanted to share an amusing anecdote with you! _

_ Saw something in the shops that made me think of you! _

Rumford sighed. Surely, this was one of those things that was like ripping off a Band-Aid, or jumping into a cold swimming pool. It just needed to be done.

“I'm calling because… there's something I've had on my mind?” he said, and his hands were trembling, and _ gods,  _ he needed to  _ do _ something with them. Anything.

“Oh.” was her response, and her voice was suddenly so much more small.

It didn’t seem fair, did it? That the truth– the good, honest truth that would set you free– could also be so scary?

He opened his drawer, the one with his cufflinks and tie pins, and how it gotten so messy? 

“I– I'm sure the phone isn't really the best thing for something like this,” he said, already beginning to rearrange everything.

Why were the square cufflinks in the front? Surely he wore the round ones in the back more often.

“But…” he continued, “the distance being what it is, I think it'd be best… the sooner we can ah… have this conversation.”

“Okay…” she said, sounding smaller still.

But  _ yes. _ This was just a conversation between him and Belle. He and Belle had conversations all the time! About books! Art! Antiques! Cookies! Geese! Travel! His aunties! Her mum! In fact, he’d already had this exact conversation before! With David! 

_ “Just be open about it.”  _ David had said.

_ “It'll be tempting to be as brief as possible,”  _ he’d said.

_ “Take her through your thought process.”  _ he’d said.

_ “All of it.”  _ he’d said.

Belle. Sex. Ex-wife. Hopes and dreams for the future.

Well, he had the Belle part down-pat, now didn’t he?

He closed the drawer.

"That night, when you–” Rumford swallowed. “Well, I was ah… very flattered.”

“Oh God,” Belle groaned. “I'm  _ so _ sorry. I shouldn't have– I got carried away. You don't have to apologize for– If anything, I–”

Rumford couldn't help smiling already. Lord above, the effect she had on him!

But  _ talking!  _ They needed to talk!

“I-I-I’m not apologizing, sweetheart. It's fine. You were very um, gracious in fact.”

“Oh.” she said. “Then what is it?”

“Well, I've been thinking about my ah,  _ reaction.  _ A lot. And I wanted to be… honest? And open? With you? _ ” _

Another “Oh.”

Yes, yes. Honest and open.

Open and honest.

Transparent?

That sounded less scary.

“You see, the thing is… I haven't um…  _ done that, _ in a very long time. In fact, not since before my ex-wife and I separated. Over a ah, decade ago.”

It was somehow easier, less embarrassing, to admit that to her than it had been with David. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it?

“Oh, God…” she said. “You  _ are _ still in love with your–”

“No! No no no no no no no no no!” Rumford blurted. “It's no’ that– not at all!”

“Oh.” she sighed in relief. “It's not?”

“No, it's just… the last time I… was  _ intimate _ with anybody, was with her. And it's just… we were  _ married, _ ye know? W-we had a child together, and she… it was… I-I’m sorry, I don't really know how to say this.”

Belle huffed a nervous little laugh. “It's okay, Rumford. I'm um… I'm listening. Just… try your best.”

God, she was a saint, wasn't she? To good for the likes of him!

“The thing is, Belle, that my ex-wife… I mean, things weren't great between us for a long while, but… to make a long story short, I found out that she was unfaithful, and... well, I was still very much in love with her at the time.”

“Oh. Rumford, I'm so sorry…”

“I-It’s alright. It was a long time ago, and… It's fine. It's just that– well,  _ being _ with you and getting ready to  _ do _ those things, it– I suppose I may have panicked a wee bit. Because it's something that meant something... th-that _ means something– _ to me. And I understand it might not mean the same thing to you, but…” he trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence– but he'd gotten a lot of words out just then, hadn't he?

David would be proud of him!

Hell, he was proud of himself!

“...Oh.” Belle finally said. “It’s okay Rumford, I understand.”

But the words didn't sound quite right. They sounded rushed, they sounded weak, sounded sick.

“You… you do?”

“Yeah.” she sniffled. “If you don't…  _ feel something _ with me, it's not like that's anything you have any control–”

“No!” Rumford cut in, because  _ God, no! _ “Sweetheart, that's... not it at all. Quite the opposite, in fact.” he admitted with a chuckle.

Did she really think that–? That he didn't–?

_ Silly woman! _ he thought.  _ Silly, perfect woman! _

“Well, now I'm not sure I understand…” she croaked.

“I guess what I'm trying to say, is that… I do. I do ah…  _ feel something _ with you. You see, I was afraid because… because I know what it feels like to…  _ do those things _ when it's not mutual, and it's not something I care to experience ever again.” he said– and a weight he hadn't realized he was carrying suddenly lifted off his shoulders.

_ Gods. _ Where in the bloody hell had  _ that _ come from?

“Oh. Well…” she hesitated, huffing out a little laugh. “I um,  _ feel something _ with you too.”

“Y-you do?” he asked, trembling again.

“I do. I mean, I'm not completely sure what  _ it _ is, as in, if it's…  _ that _ yet. But I feel  _ something _ with you, and I like it.”

“Aye.” he whispered. “Aye, me too.”

“I um, like it a  _ lot.” _

The line was silent for a long moment, until they both let out a laugh.

“So um, does this mean we're... serious?” Belle asked.

Rumford’s heart sank into his gut again. It was quite a boon, to know that she felt things for him. Good, pleasant, enjoyable things, at that. But that was only half of it.

Now came the  _ really  _ hard part. Talking about his wants and desires. Those silly hopes and dreams of his. Those lofty things he'd been told he  _ deserved. _

Providing excuses for his behavior was easy! But this? This was different territory entirely!

“...Rumford?” Belle asked, and oh God, her voice sounded sick again.

Rumford wet his lips, taking a deep breath before plunging into the uncharted waters ahead.

“See...  _ I dunno.” _ he started with, because it was the truth, and the truth had gotten him this far at least. “Because, while I was thinking about all this, I-I realized that… at my age, Belle, what I’m looking for…”

Oh, here came the doozy.

“I want to find someone I can spend the rest of my life with,” he blurted before the words could hide themselves away, deep in his stomach, never to be found again. “And I– Well, I know that I want more children. Whether I have them the old-fashioned way, or I adopt on my own, or with a partner. And it's just– you're young, Belle. You've got plenty of time to… to meet people before you settle down. But me? I-I don't.”

“Rumford. Are you… breaking up with me?”

“No. I mean, I don't  _ want _ to. But... If we're going to… do this, I need to know that what I'm looking for in a relationship isn't in disagreement with what  _ you're _ looking for.”

“Well–” Belle sniffled, “what do you  _ think _ I'm looking for?” she asked.

“I-I don't know, Belle.” he sighed. “In a perfect world, you'd be looking for the same things as I am. Because I like you a lot. I really do. But if that's not what you're looking for, or what you're  _ ready _ for, then… well, it's not something either of us should have to compromise on, ye know?”

“We… we wouldn't have to,” she said. “I don't think.”

Rumford rubbed a hand over his mouth, not sure of what to say. What did she mean by that? What did one say to that?

“I mean I'm not really interested in… meeting people?” she continued, “For the sake of it? I don't really see the point in that. But um... well, I'm interested in  _ you. _ And after spending the other weekend with you, and getting to know you more, well… I think I could maybe see this going further, you know? Like um… _ much _ further?”

Now it was his turn to say,  _ “Oh.” _

“And um, I mean, I'd love to have kids someday, so… if you're worried about  _ that, _ it–”

“Oh.” he said again, because he hadn't prepared himself for this.

He'd prepared himself to cry, to crawl into his bed and mourn the loss of another thing he loved, with nothing to comfort him but the silk of his pajamas, a mountain of pillows, and the sound of Bob Dylan’s  _ If See Her, Say Hello _ playing on vinyl.

“...Rumford?” she asked.

“Yes? S-sweetheart?”

“Are you alright?”

He nodded. “Aye. I'm just… I'm very happy to hear that.”

Belle giggled, so sweet and musical. His heart was stop pounding, but it was at least a much more pleasant pounding now.

“So um… we  _ are _ serious?” she asked.

“If you– if you want to be.”

“Rumford…” she groaned. But  _ oh, _ it was a playful thing that made him smile.

“What?”

“Maybe I wanna hear  _ you _ say it.”

“Oh.” he chuckled, because how wonderful was it to hear that? That she'd been enduring the same torment as he had? Of course, he'd wanted to hear the words from her, but– who could have known she'd longed to hear then from  _ him? _

He’d been so caught up in his own anxieties, it hadn't even occurred to him that she might have some of her own!

God, he hadn't been his best self these past two weeks, when Belle deserved nothing less!

“Aye,” he said. “I’m… serious about us. About you.”

“I'm serious about us, too.”

There was a pause, and she began to laugh.

“...what is it?”

“Nothing. I just, um, almost tried to kiss my phone just now.” she giggled.

“Ah.” he scoffed, and  _ oh yes. _

It was definitely possible that he was completely in love with her already.

“Look, um… I'm sorry.” she said. “Ruby, Dorothy, and I were about to head out for a late dinner–”

“Aye. Aye, sure.”

“But I'm um… I'm really glad we had this talk.” she said.

“Me too.” he said back, and now he was smiling again.

“Anyway, um…” She kept stammering and hesitating, and wasn't she just the cutest thing!

“I won't keep you then.” he said, because that was five words, and he didn't want to push his luck just yet by saying only three.

“Yeah.” she said– and he could hear it in her voice, that she was smiling too.

“Goodnight, Belle.”

“Goodnight, Rumford.”

“Goodnight.”

“We’ll uh… Talk tomorrow?” she asked.

Rumford nodded like a fool. “I'd like that.”

“Okay,” she giggled.

“Okay,” he echoed back, and the giddiness in his chest had him close to giggling himself.

Oh, this was delightful! He was smiling and he couldn't stop! He covered his mouth with his hand, as if to hide his bliss from prying eyes. And he was sweating! 

“I um… I can't wait to see you again.” she said. “In Syracuse.”

“Aye. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Well... goodnight. Again. Rumford.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart. H-have fun.”

“I will.”

“Alright then.”

“Goodni–  _ Belle!” _ Miss Lucas’ voice hollered in the background, cutting her off.  _ “You comin’ or what?” _

_ “One minute!” _ Belle shouted, her voice muffled. There was some shuffling, and she came back to him. “Sorry,” she giggled. “I gotta go. Goodnight, Rumford.”

“Aye. Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“I–” she cut herself off and cleared her throat. “...Okay.”

“Okay.”

He stared down at the screen, watching the timer tick on again. Unlike his call with Jefferson, each second that passed by made his heart feel bigger– for each second that he wasn't quite ready part from Belle, was another second that she wasn't ready to part from him either.

But then there was more shuffling, more voices, and at last she hung up– the call ending with a sad little beep.

Rumford smiled though. He looked at his reflection in the mirror again, and didn't the man staring back at him look like such a happy fool!

He stepped closer to the mirror, and the wide spread of his lips caused them to part ever so slightly, revealing the tiniest glint of a tooth. It made him think of the photos he had, somewhere, in the attic. Photos his aunties had taken of him when he was just a boy– and he really ought to fetch them, shouldn't he? Check that they were still doing fine up there, safe from the humidity? No silverfish?

There was still that sheen to his skin too, that sweat, and he wiped his forehead. He pulled his hair out of his face too, rubbed a hand over his mouth to hide that foolish smile, but it only widened against his fingers.

Him and Belle.

_ Serious. _

Such a lovely thought, now his reality!

He'd have to stop by David's this week and give him a kiss!

_ 'Just talk to her!’ _

That beautiful, sensible man, him!

Rumford took his jacket off, tossed it on his bed. Removed his tie, his shirt, his trousers– all of it. Treated himself to a hot bath filled with bubbles and thoughts of Belle.

Let himself feel a little sexy again.

Well,  _ very _ sexy.

And when he was all done feeling sexy, he put on his pajamas– the nice, silk ones– and slipped into bed.

He had a small pile of appraisals Ariel had worked on that he needed to review– but he left them in his briefcase in favor of a novel.

One of the many Belle had recommended to him. 

She might be out, away, having fun with her friends tonight– but with a favorite book of hers in his lap, he could still have a little piece of her with him tonight, couldn't he?

Oh, yes. Nothing in the world could put a damper on  _ this _ fine evening.

Not when he and Belle were  _ serious. _

He opened the book up to the beginning and turned page after page through the first chapter, minding all the details he might like to talk to Belle about. Then it was on to chapter two. Another page, and another. An interesting piece of dialogue– foreshadowing, maybe?

His phone buzzed where it sat on his nightstand, and could it be her? His Belle? A change of plans, perhaps?

His hand trembled as he reached to pick it up, but the name on the screen only made him scowl.

Leave it to  _ her _ to still be up at such an hour. What time was it over there, anyway? Four hours ahead? Five? Gods, was the woman mad?

He thought to close the book, set it aside. But why should he? This was  _ his _ time!

With a grumble, he accepted the call.

“Milah.” he answered in his best ex-husband voice. The one that said,  _ I'm not pleased about having to take calls from you, and it's definitely because I just don't appreciate having my time wasted by the likes of you and not at all because I still find you a little intimidating. _

“...Rumford.”

He pursed his lips and let out an indignant puff of air through his nose. “Yes?”

“I’d like to visit next week.” she said without any preamble.

Rumford's heart leapt into his throat for an instant. But then he realized that next weekend was fine! Because Belle was coming not next weekend, but  _ next  _ next weekend!

“Well, not  _ next _ week,” Milah said. “But the  _ following _ week.”

_ “Oh.” _ he said in a whisper, and this time his heart didn't leap into his throat, but rather plunged into his stomach. “Ah… why?” he asked, and his voice was a weak, trembling thing that was far from his assertive ex-husband voice.

“Well, our little man is heading off to college!” she said. “I’d like to spend some more time with him, in the States, before he fucks off and forgets I exist, you know?”

“...Aye. I understand. It's just–”

Excuses buzzed in his head. Being out of town. It not being the best time because Neal had a doctor's appointment– nothing serious mind, just a routine check-up. No… he was he too old for that now. What else, what else...

No, Rumford decided. There was nothing wrong, nothing shameful, nothing funny or embarrassing about the truth.

“Well, I'll have a house guest that weekend.”

“Oh, the girlfriend Neal's told me about?”

“What.”

“Neal. He mentioned you were seeing someone.”

_ Children and their mouths,  _ Rumford thought.

“Why,  _ yes. _ As a matter of fact. My… girlfriend.” he said, and cleared his throat. “We're serious, you know."

“Well, it’s about bloody time, honestly,” she scoffed.

Rumford scowled. “I'm not sure what you mean by that.”

“Look– if you'd rather not have me in one of the guest rooms, I can just book a hotel, stay out of your hair.”

“Ah…”

_ How did she do it? _

Rumford spent a significant portion of his work day telling people of all varieties to bugger off.

_ No,  _ I won't give you that price for your baubles. 

_ No, _ I'm not under the influence of narcotics for asking that much, and here's the market research to prove it.

_ No, _ I'm not going to humor your request to “speak to the man in charge” because you “don't think the redhead knows what she's talking about,” kindly leave this shop and don't ever come back unless it's to offer Miss Halloran an apology.

And yet…

And yet here he was, fighting back the urge to say, “Don’t be ridiculous! There’s plenty of room for you at the house!”

His ex-wife! In his house! While the woman he was dating (seriously!) and very possibly making love to for the first time would be spending the night! Literally any sane person would understand that! She’d even had the courtesy to offer to book a hotel instead! All he had to do was say, “Yes! Option B, please! Thank you!”

“...I'll just book the hotel, Rum.” she said.

“Yes.” He coughed. “Yes, thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I can keep my act together, there might be a lil extra somethin' sexy posted this week to er, fill in the blanks of Rumford's sexy time in the tub ;)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle has a revelation while out for Girl's Night. Rumford shops for a gift for Belle. Tilly continues to be an absolute dear and a shining beacon of queer solidarity??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TMI's for last chapter: [[x](https://ifishouldvanish.tumblr.com/tagged/tmi%3A-bh17)]
> 
> Also in case you missed it, Rumford wanked in the tub in this one-shot, _[Making a Splash (E)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15824061)_

Nightlife in Storybrooke was quite limited.

The Rabbit Hole was quite literally  _ the _ place to be on a Friday night, as it was the  _ only _ place to be on a Friday night– if one wanted a drink.

Belle had already started on her second Crown and Coke, but the downright giddiness she was feeling had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with her call with Rumford.

Or at least, it was  _ mostly _ to do with her call with Rumford.

_ They were serious. _

Oh! She could hardly wait to see him again so she could kiss him senseless!

“So…” Ruby grinned and set her cosmo down. “You've been awfully smiley this evening, Belle. Just what were you and  _ Rumford _ talking about, hm?”

Dorothy rolled her eyes and gave her shoulder a gentle shove. “So nosy!”

“What?” she asked. “She's my best friend! I’m  _ allowed _ to be nosy!”

Belle hid her grin behind her glass. She'd been waffling back and forth all evening over whether to shout it from the mountain tops or keep it her and Rumford's little secret for a few days. 

_ Serious! _

It was all just so exciting!

“You don't have to answer her, Belle,” Dorothy assured, taking another swig of her beer.

“Yeah, she does.” Ruby said, waving her off. “I tell her  _ all _ sorts of stuff about  _ you.” _

“Oh, Great,” Dorothy grumbled and looked away.

“So.” Ruby continued, “Are you going to tell the class what was so important that you were  _ late _ getting ready for girl's night?”

Belle pressed her lips together, trying and failing to hold back her smile. “He just wanted to  _ talk…” _ she shrugged. At the very least, she could play coy for a little while.

“Oh, I know–” Ruby winked. “He probably wanted to know what color panties you were wearing.”

Belle’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me! Rumford is a  _ gentleman.”  _ she huffed.

Though come to think of it, she'd be more than happy to describe her undergarments to Rumford in great detail if he ever asked.

Maybe, one evening…

She could ask him what he wore that day, so that he might ask the same of her. Then a perfectly innocent description of her blouse could become a dangerously seductive description of her brassiere that would have him sweating on the other end of the line.

“Not  _ too _ much of a gentleman, I hope,” Ruby said, wiggling her brows.

Rumford. Sweaty. Sweaty Rumford.

Dorothy shook her head. “You are  _ so _ terrib–” 

“I know, right?” Belle blurted.

Ruby smiled, and after a beat of silence, the pair of them burst into a fit of giggles.

“I stand corrected. You're  _ both _ terrible.” Dorothy scoffed.

Ruby lowered her head, leaning across the table. “I bet he's secretly like, really kinky.” she whispered.

“No…” Belle gasped. “Rumford? He's too sweet.”

“I'm just saying… Maybe the reason he wasn't ready to bone you is because he has  _ desires that are unconventional,” _ Ruby snorted.

Belle smiled around her straw as dozens of naughty thoughts crossed her mind. How thrilling it would be to unbutton his shirt and see his chest and tummy for the first time! The places she could touch him! Kiss him! 

The  _ sweat _ she could lick off of him!

“Well, I'd be fine with that,” she decided with a giggle. “Because um– well, he gives  _ me _ some unconventional desires...”

Ruby's eyes widened and she smacked her hand on the table.  _ “Tell me.” _

She bit down on her lip and quickly glanced over her shoulder, around the bar to make sure no one was listening in on the naughty things she was about to say. “Well…” she began, “I um, like his mouth. I want him to…  _ use it on me.” _

Ruby and Dorothy exchanged amused looks– both at Belle and at each other.

“...Is that all?” Ruby asked.

Belle rolled her eyes. “Not  _ that!” _ she huffed. “At least, not _ just _ that.”

“Oh?”

“I wanna–” she climbed halfway out of her seat so she could lean across the table and whisper in Ruby's ear. “I wanna put my fingers in his mouth. And watch him suck the…  _ you know.  _ Off of them.”

Ruby shrugged and gave an approving, “Mhm... Okay…”

“And maybe he could put his fingers in  _ my _ mouth, too.” she giggled as she sat back down, minding her skirt.

Ruby's grin widened. “You can lick them clean while you do it and he can tell you what a  _ good girl _ you are,” she murmured huskily before dissolving into a snort of laughter.

Dorothy threw her hands over her face, shaking her head.

“Exactly!” Belle smiled, eyes growing wide. “See, this is why you're my BFF, Ruby. You just  _ get _ me, you know?”

“I know, peanut. I know.”

“‘Cause I think that would be like,  _ really _ sexy? I  _ love _ being told I'm a good girl.”

_ “Oh my god.  _ Who used to call you a good girl?” Ruby asked. “Was it Will? ...It  _ had _ to be Will– 'cause I can't picture it being anything other than creepy coming from Greg.”

“Nobody.” Belle said, taking another sip of her drink. “But–” she leaned in and cupped a hand over her mouth, lowering her voice to not quite a whisper. “Now I'm thinking about Rumford calling me a good girl, and it's  _ making me really horny!” _

They snorted and shared another short burst of riotous laughter, and Ruby leaned over the table again, gesturing for Belle to get closer.

She pressed her lips together and leaned in.

“...You're a  _ great _ girl.” Ruby whispered.

Belle snorted and sprang back up. “I'm the  _ best _ girl!”

“Shit! You sure are, babe!”

“But um… you know what else?” Belle asked.

Ruby and Dorothy raised their brows expectantly.

“While I was getting my toes done today… I was thinking about what it might be like, if he sucked those too.”

Ruby sputtered on her drink.  _ “What?” _

“Alright–” Dorothy said, slapping her hand on the table. “I'm not gonna be able to look the man in the eyes for the entire tour next year.”

“I don't know.” Belle shrugged. “I think it could be sexy? Like… I just don't know!” she said again, throwing her hands up. “I just… like his mouth a lot? And... I wanna watch him suck on things! Like  _ me!” _ she giggled.

“I feel like I'd be too ticklish and end up kicking you in the face,” Ruby told Dorothy. “But I guess I can kinda see the appeal.” she said to Belle, giving half a shrug.

“Yeah, don't you get any ideas.” Dorothy shook her head. “I'm not sucking anyone's toes.”

Ruby reeled back in feigned offense, laying a hand over her heart. “Excuse me! I have  _ beautiful _ feet!”

“Mhm,” Belle chimed in. “She does.”

Ruby gave her a high-five. “Thanks, peanut.”

“Ruby is  _ very _ sexy.” Belle informed Dorothy. “She's a  _ sexy _ woman.”

“Damn,” Dorothy laughed, “should I be worried?”

Belle pouted her lips. “Hm… no,” she decided. “You guys are cute together.”

“Aw.” Ruby tilted her head. “Thank you, peanut.” she said, and pecked Dorothy on the cheek.

Dorothy blushed and smiled at her a moment before returning a quick kiss on the lips.

“See?” Belle gestured at the two of them. “Cute.”

The pair of them shifted closer together, and Ruby draped an arm over Dorothy's shoulder. “Almost as cute as you and Rumford, right?” she said, flashing a big smile.

“Hm… I don't know,” Belle grinned, pretended to think about it. “Rumford and I  _ are _ pretty cute…”

_ And serious! _

Ruby's eyes landed on something across the bar then, and she slouched and rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Don't look now, but Creepshow is coming over.”

Naturally, Belle looked.

_ “Dammit, Belle.” _ Ruby laughed.

“What?” she whined. “You know I can't help looking when you say  _ don't look!” _

“Who's Creepshow?” Dorothy asked.

Ruby sighed. “You're about to find out.”

A shadow soon loomed over the table, and Belle and Ruby did their best to ignore the man standing there, stirring their straws through their drinks with intense focus instead.

“Hello, ladies,” Keith winked. “Having a good time tonight?”

Belle rolled her eyes.

“We  _ were.”  _ Ruby grit through her teeth.

“Just wanted to stop by and introduce myself to hottie number three,” he said, ogling Dorothy. “Never seen you around… You must be new in town.”

“And you must be  _ lost.” _ Ruby said.

“Oh, no…” he smiled, resting an arm on the back of their booth. “I am  _ exactly _ where I wanna be right now. Surrounded by three beautiful–”

“I'm sorry. You’re… seriously barking up the wrong tree.” Dorothy laughed. “Please– leave us alone.”

Keith blinked at the interruption. “Oh, come on now, I just wanna say hello–”

“And  _ we _ just wanna enjoy our drinks in peace.” Ruby said.

“Well, perhaps your friend here–”

“No one at this table is interested.” Dorothy said. “Least of all me.”

“Ouch!” he joked. “You are  _ ice cold!” _

“No. Not cold. Just gay as hell.”

Belle giggled, and Keith waved Dorothy off, turning to his attention to her instead.

“See now, that's a cute little laugh you've got there,” he said, already moving in. “I'd like to hear what other sounds you make, sweetheart.”

Belle stopped giggling and wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

Keith dropped into the seat beside her, and Belle pulled her drink away protectively, refusing to look at him. “You know, you're pretty sexy for a nerdy chick.” he told her. “Got that girl next door thing going on, and I always liked those little skirts you wear. I'm not much for reading, but perhaps I should start visiting the library more often. I could show a good girl like you a good time.”

Belle clenched her jaw.

_ The nerve of him. _

She was perfectly capable of having a good time without any help from the likes of  _ him!  _ And a ‘good girl’?! 

_ No! _

Oh no, no, no!

_ Rumford _ was supposed to call her a good girl, and this seedy reprobate was going to  _ ruin _ it before he ever got the chance!

There was only one thing to say to such a monster!

Belle squared her shoulders and cleared her throat.

“Uh-oh.” Ruby said.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

This was it.

She'd been practicing for this moment since the seventh grade.

“Wh-what's she doing?” Keith asked, his voice beginning to tremble.

_ “In such cases as this–” _ Belle began, clapping a hand over her chest, “it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of _ obligation _ for the sentiments avowed, however  _ unequally _ they may be returned.”

Keith furrowed his brows at her.  _ “...What?” _

Belle scowled and crept into his space as he had done hers, and he shrunk back.

“It is natural that obligation should be felt. And  _ if _ I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot – I have  _ never _ desired your good opinion!” she shouted. “And– Well…” she hesitated and looked him up and down with disgust, “... _ you're gross!” _

He glanced around the table in confusion, and Dorothy threw her head back in laughter.

_ “Nice one, _ Belle.” she said, giving her another high five.

“That’s  _ nerdy chick  _ for ‘no one at this table is your  _ sweetheart’ _ , _ ” _ Ruby translated for him.

_ “Or _ your good girl!” Belle said, stomping a heeled foot on his toes.

“Ow!” he winced, clamoring to get out of the booth. “What the hell!?”

“No one on this  _ planet _ is.” Ruby added.

Keith brushed himself off and put his smug grin firmly back in place, resilient cockroach that he was. “Come on, Miss Lucas.” He leaned over the table. “You know I always enjoy our talks.”

_ “I _ sure don't.” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest.

“No? ‘Cause whenever I visit the diner, I know I can always count on you to give me service with a smile.”

“Yeah well, don't delude yourself.” she rolled her eyes. “Smiling at assholes is part of the job.”

Belle stuck her fingers in her glass and started fishing out an ice cube.

Taking advantage of the emotional labor performed by retail and service employees?

Morally repugnant!

Rumford would never!

“I thought we told you to leave.” Dorothy cut in, setting her arm down across the table and facing Keith head on.

“Hey, now. No need to get so testy.” he said. “We're just having a–” he flinched as a hunk of ice bounced off his shoulder and clattered into the floor. “What was–”

Belle blew a raspberry, cutting him off.

Dorothy had to smother a laugh. “You're not listening.” she said. “We told you to leave.”

“You know, it's rude to interrupt a man–”

“I'm gonna ask you to leave us alone one more time.” Dorothy said.

Keith's flirtatious facade slipped away, revealing the dark, slimy cur underneath. He crouched down and reached to brush her hair over her shoulder. “I don't know who you think you are, swee–  _ ow!”  _ he yelped when she grabbed his wrist, twisting it painfully and pulling him close.

Belle blinked and looked to Ruby, finding her staring at the hold Dorothy had on him with open surprise.

_ “You _ might not know who I am,” Dorothy spoke quietly in his ear, “But I do. So let me tell you: I'm a lesbian who grew up in the rural Midwest. You don't like being told  _ no? _ I've been told so much worse.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Let go of me, you fucking–”

“Bitch?” she finished. “Go ahead. Call me a bitch. Call me a dyke. Call me a God-damned queer.”

“You  _ are _ a bitch.”

“I am.” Dorothy said, donning a smile that managed to look both perfectly calm and completely mad. “I am  _ all _ of those things. And you can knock me down and rub my face in the dirt, trap me in a corner and try to  _ fix _ me– But I will  _ still _ be all of those things.” she said. “So hear me when I say that you're not the first scumbag I've ever met and you sure as hell won't be the last.”

“Fine! I'm sorry–”

“Oh no. I don't want your apology.” Dorothy shook her head. “We’re past the time for apologies.”

Keith swallowed hard, and Belle found herself scooting to the edge of her seat.

“I'm gonna let go of this arm, and if you know what's good for you, you're gonna walk away. Otherwise, I've got about a decade and a half’s worth of repressed, angry queer, lesbian, dyke bitch rage just  _ waiting _ to come out. Do I make myself clear?”

He nodded.

“Now do not bother me, or either of these women, ever again.” She shoved him back, and he scurried away without another word.

“Yeah!” Belle rose out of her seat and hollered after him as he sulked towards the door. “Your hair is greasy and your beard looks like armpit hair!”

“Belle.” Ruby hushed, grasping her hand and pulling her to sit back down. “Belle–”

“And your cologne sucks!”

“Belle, that's–”

“I'm sorry.” She coughed and sat back down. “I just–”

“I know, peanut,” Ruby chuckled. “He behaved in a most ungentlemanly fashion. Here–” she said, sliding a glass of water towards her. “Pace yourself, will ya?”

“Okay.” Belle nodded, accepting the glass and diligently slurping down on the straw. “Thinks he can call me a good girl and get away with it…” she muttered under her breath.

Ruby rested a hand on Dorothy's back. “Hey,” she whispered. “You okay?”

Dorothy pursed her lips and took a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine.” she shrugged. “Hell if I'm gonna let a prick like that ruin girl's night, right?” she smiled.

“Okay. Because–” Ruby chuckled, “that was kinda badass.”

She blushed and shook her head.

“Seriously. Like... I'm a little turned on right now.”

A smirk spread across Dorothy's face. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, wetting her lips.

They stared at each other with gleaming eyes, hands reaching and fingers touching where they rested on the table. Angling their heads, they slowly leaned in for a kiss.

“Me too.” Belle said, and they froze and pulled apart.

“Belle, you've been keyed up since we left the apartment.” Dorothy scoffed.

She snorted. “I know!”

“Keyed up since her call with  _ Rumford,” _ Ruby teased, settling for giving her girlfriend another peck on the cheek instead.

“Rumford’s a sexy man.” Belle told them in her defense. “And if it wasn't for girl's night, I'd  _ definitely _ be in my room masturbating right now.”

Dorothy squinted and tilted her head, fighting back a humored grin while Ruby slumped against her, laughing into her shoulder.

“What?” Belle asked.

“I'm just… so  _ deeply _ sorry for the inconvenience my visit is causing you.” Dorothy joked.

“No. It's okay.” Belle shrugged. “I'll do it tomorrow morning! Right now I'm having fun with you guys!”

She shook her head and laughed. “You really  _ are _ the best girl, you know that?”

“And that's why she's my bestie.” Ruby said, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Dorothy raised her half-empty bottle in a toast. “Belle?” she said, “I hope  _ all _ your weird little finger and toe sucking fantasies come true, girl.”

“Thank you.” She smiled and clinked her glass. “And I hope you guys have awesome sex tonight.”

“I'm sure we will, babe.” Ruby snickered, joining the toast.

“To the two coolest ladies I've ever met.” Dorothy added.

“The two baddest bitches I've ever met.” Belle said.

“To girl's night.” Ruby finished.

They clinked their various drinks and tossed them back, exchanging knowing smiles as they set them back down.

“Okay, but, Belle--” Ruby folded her arms over the table. “You still haven't answered the question. What did Rumford _ just wanna talk _ about? I'm nosy and I need to know!”

Belle nibbled her lip. Decided she'd had enough of acting coy.

“He wanted to know... if I wanted us to be serious.”

Ruby drew a long, gasping breath. “What’d you tell him?”

“What do you  _ think _ I told him!?” Belle laughed.

“That you already have names picked out for your children?”

“Listen.” she said, holding a hand up. “As much as I want our first born son to be a Fitzwilliam–”

“That's… a  _ great _ name.” Dorothy snorted, tipping her bottle.

“A  _ strong _ name.” Ruby nodded.

“I  _ am  _ still _ … _ open to suggestions.” Belle finished.

Ruby and Dorothy exchanged looks before looking back across the table at her. “...Anything but Fitzwilliam.” they deadpanned.

“Oh, come  _ on! _ You guys are no fun!” Belle pouted. “Fitzwilliam Gold is a wonderful name! Especially Fitzwilliam  _ French- _ Gold!?”

Dorothy bobbed her head from side to side for a moment and shrugged. “You gotta admit–” she said to Ruby, “the alliteration on that one  _ is _ really nice.”

_ “See?” _ Belle gestured at her and bulged her eyes at Ruby. “Your girlfriend gets it! It's a perfect name!”

“Yeah, if you want your son to grow up to hate you.” she scoffed. “And excuse me? I'm  _ tons _ of fun, thank you very much.”

“I know.” Belle sighed. “I'm sorry. But anyway... Rumford had some  _ concerns _ ? That maybe I wasn't as serious about us as he was? So I told him that I like him a  _ lot _ and that I have  _ feelings _ for him and that of  _ course _ I'd like to be serious! And we agreed that we're open to wherever things might go, and if that means possibly  _ settling down _ in a few years and making  _ babies _ together, then–”

“He might as well get on with it and show you the ring already,” Ruby laughed.

“Seriously.” Dorothy scoffed.

“Hey now! It was very sweet!” Belle said. “And in light of the things he told me about his previous marriage… I think it's perfectly understandable that he'd need that um… that reassurance.” she added, slurping down the rest of her cocktail.

_ “Ooh…” _ Ruby scoot to the edge of her seat. “What happened?”

“Oh, would you leave the woman alone?!” Dorothy teased, smacking her on the arm. “The man told her something in confidence!”

_ “Babe.”  _ Ruby leaned into her face. “Everyone knows that when you tell a girl something, you're also telling her best friend.”

Dorothy leaned in closer, until their noses were almost touching. “That's just the misogynist  _ clucking hen _ stereo–”

_ “His ex-wife cheated on him,” _ Belle whispered.

“Aw!” Ruby pouted. “Poor thing…”

“See?” Dorothy shrugged. “These are the kinds of things I don't need to know about the guy I work with a few months out of the year.” she said.

“Anyway,” Belle continued, “maybe it  _ is _ a little early to bring up marriage and children and stuff, but… it's also like… really nice? To know where he stands on stuff? And that he's… committed. Instead of like… guessing?”

“Hm.” Dorothy coughed and took a swig of her beer, and Ruby stared down at her glass, idly stirring her straw.

“And I'm also… really flattered,” Belle said, “and um, honored. That he could be open with me about that? Because that's what I really want, you know? And I know he's kind of shy and a really private person and stuff? So... it means a lot to me.”

The table got quiet, and Belle slurped from her empty glass to fill the silence.

“That's good,” Ruby finally said. “I'm really happy for you, peanut.”

Belle let out a deep sigh. “He's such a gentle soul, guys… I love him so much? I just feel like–”

“Whoa.” Ruby cut her off. “Pump the breaks right there, peanut. What did you just say?”

“He's a gentle soul and I love him so–” Belle cut herself off with a gasp.  _ “I love him so much.” _ she realized, starting to bounce in her seat. “I love him! I love Rumford! You guys!”

“Aw,” Dorothy smiled. “Now that's precious.”

Ruby squealed and drummed her hands on the table. “You hear that, everybody?” she hollered across the bar. “My girl's in love!”

A quiet round of cheers, whistles, and applause sounded from the few tables paying attention.

“I love Rumford and I wanna suck on his fingers and have his babies!” Belle snorted, clapping her hands.

“Alright,” Ruby laughed, maybe not so loud on the sucking his fingers thing,” she hushed.

  
  
  
  


*****

  
  
  
  


Rumford Gold didn't like to be watched.

In fact, he didn't like for anyone to know what he was up to, ever.

It was none of their bloody business, really.

But when he heard the back door of the shop open, announcing Miss Halloran's arrival, he'd been too preoccupied with browsing the shop’s jewelry selection to tear his eyes from the glass case that housed it all.

Perhaps it was just the mood he'd found himself in, when he woke up this morning to a text from Belle that read, “Goodnight sexy”– complete with one of those winking, kissy faces.

By now, Rumford was no stranger to a “Goodnight handsome” with a  _ blushing _ kissy face.

But a “Goodnight  _ sexy”? _

_ Winking? _

Had Belle been feeling as amourous as he was last night? The thought was enough to make him forget about that unfortunate phone call from Milah!

He'd texted her back with a “Good morning, my darling Belle” and a bright red rose– and she'd responded a few minutes later with an, “I missed you last night” followed by a row of hearts.

That was when the idea had come to him.

A gift. For his darling Belle.

Rumford heard Ariel's purse drop onto her desk in the back room, her heels knock across the floor, and–

“Good morning, Mr Gold!”

“Hm,” he grunted in greeting and wiped the grin off of his face, continuing to stare at the rows of earrings, bracelets, and things.

This couldn't possibly the best jewelry they had to offer, he thought.

None of it was acceptable! At least, certainly not for Belle!

Perhaps he ought to start digging in the back.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” Ariel asked.

Rumford released a long breath of air. “Oh, nothing.” he said, pulling away from the glass case.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, twiddling her thumbs over her belly. “Is something missing? Cause… well, I took the liberty of moving the silverware over next to the glassware and flatware yesterday.”

“Ah,” he smiled up at her, pretending he hadn't noticed the moment he came in. “That must be it.”

“You don't… you don't mind, do you? I-I can put it back.”

“No, no. No, I think it looks nice there. Excellent idea. I appreciate the… initiative.”

A relieved smile broke across her face. “Thank you.” she said, easing her shoulders. “You see, I was reading an article in  _ Pawnbroker’s Digest _ last week about organizing displays by function rather than material or time period? It had all these case studies to demonstrate how it boosts sales, and...”

“Once again,” he said, “you've… gone above and beyond, Miss Halloran.”

“Well,” she shrugged, “it's not that big of a deal.”

“No, it is.” he insisted. “Don't know how I'd run this place without you.”

“Oh, I think you'd manage just fine, Mr Gold,” she blushed.

He gave a little chuckle of acknowledgement and returned to the case. Surely there had to be _ something. _

“But come on, now,” she said. “I know that look.”

He glanced up at her again, raised a brow. “And what look is that?”

“The look of someone who's determined to find something special.”

He gave a tight-lipped smile and made an empty-handed gesture. “I'm… looking for a gift.” he confessed. “For a ah... woman.”

“Oh!” Ariel beamed. “Well, we just got a necklace in last week that's sure to leave a girl speechless!” she said, rushing to the back. 

Rumford blinked and watched her disappear, then return with a large velvet clamshell box.

“I found this at the secondhand store around the corner.” she told him with a big grin. “I think some people just assume pieces like this are costume junk, but for twenty bucks I picked it up and checked it– it's real.”

He raised a brow, and she proudly opened the box. The necklace inside was certainly breathtaking, he thought. Dozens of large, brilliant stones arranged in a elegant chevron shape. It looked like the sort of thing that night be the object of a jewel heist. But it was also…

“A bit much.”

“No?”

“I mean, it's… stunning. Great job, great find. But– well, I'm not sure it's to her taste, is all.” he chuckled.

“Hm...” she crossed her arms over her chest and pouted her lips, staring at the thing.  _ “...oh my!” _ she gasped. “I'm sorry, Mr Gold. I just assumed–  I didn't even realize you were um,  _ the customer.” _

“Ah…” he stammered, “yes, actually.”

“Gosh! I didn't know you were seeing anybody! I just figured we got a call and you were looking–” She froze and narrowed her eyes at him. _ “Wait.  _ You  _ are _ seeing somebody, right?”

He scoffed, and it struck him just how new this all was. Having someone ask him if he had a special someone, and for his answer to be yes. “...Aye.” he nodded. “I am.”

“Oh, that's wonderful!” she smiled. “Gosh, let me put this away. We'll find something just right for her, don't you worry!” she assured, hastily closing the lid over the box. “Does she wear any jewelry that you've noticed?’ she asked. “Prefer silver or gold?”

“Gold.” he said immediately, but where had that that come from? Was that right? Gold? He tried to picture Belle wearing each. Gold? Maybe. Silver? No, no, no. Certainly not.

“Definitely, gold.” he said, heart already aflutter at the thought of gifting Belle with his namesake.

“Okay, well that's a start.” Ariel smiled.

Rumford knew the procedure of selling jewelry, of course. What questions to ask, what to look for. Was pretty capable of picking something out himself. But… there was something comforting about having someone hold his hand through the process, wasn't there? A sounding board to talk at, so that he might notice any foolishness when it bounced off of her and echoed back at him.

“She– she wears a necklace.” he said, fingering at his shirt collar. “Small, delicate thing. I believe it was her mother's.”

“So we definitely want to do a necklace, then? Or maybe a bracelet or earrings instead?”

“Do… do you think that would be a problem?” he asked. “This necklace, she… she wears it every day from what I've noticed. Would it be… presumptuous to get her another? Because if it  _ is _ her mother's– and I'm almost certain it is– Well, I-I wouldn't want her to feel obligated to stop wearing that so she can wear something from me, ye know?”

“Aww,” Ariel gushed. “Mr Gold, that's so thoughtful of you.”

“Yes, well… it's to be a gift for  _ her,” _ he said stiffly. “Not a… bloody cattle brand.”

She sputtered a laugh. “That's true.”

“Maybe a bracelet, instead, would be best.” he decided, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“But no earrings?” she asked, disappearing into the back room again.

Rumford pouted.

Earrings.

Did Belle wear earrings?

He was most certain she did, but… no, the idea didn't delight him as much as the thought of a necklace or a bracelet. Earrings would be covered by her hair most of the time, wouldn't they? But a delicate chain, a golden thread? Wrapped around her elegant wrist? That would be just the thing.

Perhaps, whenever  _ she _ thought of  _ him _ , she could look down at her wrist and admire it. This proof of just how much  _ he _ thought of  _ her. _ One couldn't do that with earrings. At least, not without a mirror– and surely admiring one's self in the mirror in public was frowned upon.

He couldn't have anyone frowning upon his Belle.

Rumford shook his head. “No. No earrings.” he called after her. “And something… something Edwardian in feel, I think. Georgian, perhaps. Maybe art nouveau, but definitely not deco.”

“You got it, boss.” Ariel hollered from the back room, continuing to rummage through their inventory. “I think we have… a  _ few  _ things… let's see…” she mumbled to herself. “Right over... where did I put it?”

Rumford smiled fondly, and he probably ought to join her and help, but… well, perhaps this was a perfect opportunity to see how his employee conducted herself with even the choosiest of customers.

Ariel returned a minute or so later with a stack of velvet boxes in her hand and carefully began setting them all out across the counter. “So… who's the lucky lady?” she asked.

“Her name’s Belle.” he said. Smiled. Couldn't say her name without doing that.

She sighed a wistful thing. “Such a pretty name… Where'd you guys meet?”

“Boston.” he said. “At the show, I– I appraised a book for her.”

“Aww… how cute!” she cooed. “Does she live in Boston?”

Rumford shook his head. “Maine.”

Ariel gasped, mouth open wide. “Mr  _ Gold!” _ she admonished playfully. “You sly dog, you!”

He furrowed his brows. “What?”

Ariel tutted at him.  _ “Going to a little town in Maine for an estate sale?”  _ she teased. “Mmhm. _ I see– _ you just wanted to visit your sweetheart on the sly!”

Rumford blushed, tried to shrug it off. “...There was a market.” he said in his defense.

“Well, I think it's wonderful. Good for you.” she said. “Anyway– I think we've got some real cool stuff here.” She gingerly began opening each box, watching his face for a reaction. “Tell me what you think.”

A silver bangle, two gold ones, two suffragette bracelets, a few gold pendant necklaces, an enameled cuff bracelet. He shook his head. Bangles and cuffs were no good. But the next one was– 

_ Oh, it was pretty. _ Delicate. Understated. A thin gold chain with a few small, enameled gold rosebuds dangling from it. Soft, pink rosebuds. Soft like Belle. He pulled the box toward him and rolled one of the tiny blooms between his fingers. There was a single diamond seated in the center of it too, that gave the thing a little sparkle when the light hit it just so.

Yes, he could picture this bracelet on Belle's wrist.

Imagine her opening the box and smiling, asking him to put it on right away. Holding her hand up and admiring the pretty new thing that was now all hers. A token of his love, yes– because oh, did she have his love!

This bracelet was just  _ made _ to be on Belle's wrist. Rumford was certain of it.

_ "Looks like we have a winner…” _ Ariel sing-songed.

Rumford wet this lips and nodded. “Aye. That's it.”

“An excellent choice,” she smiled, taking it back and snapping the box shut. “I'll get this cleaned up and looking beautiful for her.”

“Yes. Please.”

“So… tell me– I wanna know  _ all _ the details!” Ariel said. “Was it love at first sight?”

“It was… something like that.” he said, blushing again.

“God, look at you!” she teased. “She must be one of hell of a woman.”

Rumford nodded. Smiled again. “She is.”

“Well, it was _about_ _time_ somebody noticed what a catch you are, huh?” she winked.

He chuckled and shook his head. “You flatter me, Miss Halloran.”

“Well, if she ever comes  _ here _ to visit, I'd love to meet her.” Ariel said. “I can talk you up real good to her, too.” she added, wiggling her brows. “Tell her about the  _ killer _ conservation job you did on that Whistler painting for the museum last year.”

“That's… quite alright.” he blushed again. “But ah... sh-she  _ will _ be. Visiting. Soon.”

“And look. I know Maine's a ways away, but… well, with Eric being in the Marine corps, he's always in and out of town. You make it work, you know?”

“Aye.” he nodded. “We write. A-and call.”

“That's good.” she smiled.

Rumford opened his mouth to say something– as the rhythm of the conversation seemed to call for it– but he couldn't think of anything to add, and the longer he stood with his mouth hanging open, the more naked and exposed he felt.

He'd already said too much, hadn't he?

“Ah…  _ aye.”  _ he said again, “Thank you,” and dodged her gaze as he brushed past her and into the back office.

He made a beeline for the safety of his desk and started to busy himself with his emails. Those were easy, yes. Didn't involve revealing personal details about his love life.

Need an authentication on a watch? Yes, sir, please feel free to stop by anytime.

Collecting 19th century smoking ephemera? Yes, I do believe we have some things in our inventory that may be of interest to you.

Authentication on a celebrity autograph? No, no, I'm afraid that's not quite what we do here, but I'd be happy to recommended any of the following experts in the area.

Insurance appraisal on a set of fine china? We'd be happy to, however we  _ are _ booked through to September. Earliest we could have someone take a look would be the twenty-third, but if that's not soon enough for you, I could refer you to another highly qualified appraiser in the area. Do let me know at your earliest convenience so I can pencil you in.

Looking for an certain authentic something to furnish your Tudor? Yes, ma’am. We've got all manner of– 

_ “Here you go.” _ Ariel whispered, setting Belle's bracelet, all polished and gleaming, on his desk and giving a thumbs up.

Rumford nodded and smiled, managed a hushed  _ thank  _ you, and returned to his emails.

Where was he?

Yes, yes. Tudor furniture and decor.

He finished typing his response and moved into the next. 

Sent, sent, and sent.

But there was real work to do, and responding to these banal emails was really Tilly's job, now wasn't it?

Rumford sighed and begrudgingly opened one of the documents on his desktop. An insurance appraisal for a set of Berkey and Gay furniture.

Excellent condition.

Walnut.

Sculpted inlays, yes.

Why, he'd seen similar sets go for around eight at auction…

Stunning pieces, really. But...

He looked up from his laptop screen and blinked his eyes into focus on the back wall. Hardly a moment passed before his mind and eyes wandered back to the little box Ariel had placed on his desk. She'd done a lovely job cleaning up the thing, and now it wouldn't stop calling his name, luring him to pick it up and stare at it. Smile.

_ When should he give Belle her gift? _

That was where his mind  _ really _ was. Not on this… dining room set and side table!

Should he give it to her right away?

They could exchange hellos, exchange kisses once she arrived (kisses!), and he could smile and say, “Oh, hold on, I've got something for you, sweetheart.”

After all, he could hardly wait to see her reaction!

Or should he wait until dinner? When their tummies were full and their heads tingled with the slight buzz of a glass of wine or two? He could have it at the ready, place it before her and smile at her protests, “oh, Rumford, you shouldn't have!”

Or maybe the following morning, once they were all dressed and ready for a day on the town. She might stop at the door and ask him, “how do I look?” and he could say something like, “Oh, you look stunning, but something’s missing…” Her brow would crease adorably, wouldn't it? He'd snap a finger and go, “Ah, yes, I know,” and fetch it for her. Then she wouldn't even gave to wait until the next day to show it off!

Or perhaps he could leave it on her pillow in the guest room before bed, with a little note. “A little something that made me think of you.” Would she come find him right away to thank him? Or might she be a coy thing and say nothing until morning, when he'd notice it already on her wrist?

Rumford tucked the bracelet and his foolish smile away when he realized someone was standing at his desk.

“Tilly.” he cleared his throat and sat up. Hadn't noticed her come in. “Can I ah… help you with anything?”

She bit her cheek for a moment, then set a tiny package on his desk, wrapped in newsprint. “For you.” she said.

“What's this?” he asked.

“Just a little something I had lying around.” she shrugged. “Got no use for it anymore. You don't have to open it now, but… well, it's always fun to watch people open presents, don't you think? Even if they're small?” She held her hands behind her back and bounced on her toes before leaning forward, as if to share a secret. “...Especially when they're small, I think.” she added with a wink.

Rumford blinked, snapped his eyes back and forth between her face and the tiny parcel on his desk. “You…you got me a present?”

She smiled, and shrugged again. “Like I said. Just a little something.”

“Oh. Well… a-alright.” he chuckled awkwardly, a smile tugging his lips as he picked the thing up.

He tore through the newsprint slowly, and there it was, fixed to a piece of cardstock. He stopped to put his glasses on so he could see it better– A rectangular little pin, no larger than his thumbnail, with three stripes of colored enamel going across. Pink, then purple, then blue.

_ It's pretty, _ was his first thought.

His second, spoken aloud, was, “what is it?”

“It's the pride flag.” she answered, rolling the hem of her flannel between her fingers. “For uh, you know. People who like more than one kind of pie.”

His eyes immediately darted to Ariel's desk, but he didn't find her there. The stiffness left his shoulders and he looked back to Tilly. Relaxed into his chair.

It was just the two of them. Him and Tilly. Tilly was good. Tilly was safe.

_ He was certain Ariel would be safe too, _ but… perhaps some other time.

“Oh.” he finally acknowledged. “B... bi…  _ bisexual. _ Pride. Flag. You mean.”

It still felt so strange to say the word out loud!

“Yeah. I um… I used to wear it on my backpack.” she told him, shifting on her feet. “When I was in high school.”

“Used to.” he repeated, smiling up at her in understanding.

She nodded slightly, hesitated. “I-I thought it might look nice right there, like?” she suggested, pointing at his lapel.

He brushed his thumb over the pin appreciatively for a moment. Felt his eyes get a little moist.

It  _ would _ look nice on his lapel, he thought. Would match several of his shirts, too!

“Thank you.” he said.

She smiled. A big, toothy thing. “You like it?”

“Aye.” he nodded, because he  _ did _ like it– however terrifying the thought of actually wearing the thing was. “It's… lovely, Tilly. Thank you. Very much. Truly.”

“You don't have to wear it if you don't want to,” she assured him. “I won't be insulted. But I thought– if you ever  _ wanted _ to. It... feels nice sometimes. To be  _ seen, _ you know?”

“Aye.” Rumford smiled. “I imagine it must be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Belle will be arriving in Syracuse!


End file.
